


Privilege, Prestige and all the things I have lost ...

by PoisonedPrada



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Established Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs, F/F, Mirandy Bingo, Mirandy Week, Mirandy Year of Fun & Frolics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-10-05 09:50:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 37,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17322731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedPrada/pseuds/PoisonedPrada
Summary: Let me think of how to describe it.... poetic?.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave feedback :)

It could be said she was a melancholic, a masochist for ill-fated love and sad endings. All her life she had imagined a tragic, grander than life love story and she had gotten it. She had gotten it in a certain, one sided endeavor called unrequited love.  
She sat in bed, glasses hanging on the perch of her nose, bob of hair falling dangerously close to her eye, wedding band sparkling in the yellow lamplight as she let a few papers fall from her hand onto the satin matte sheets. She had tried to be just like her, she had tried so much, to imitate her, a glimmer but she had mostly failed. She had failed mostly in everything, except the hair, and the glasses and the divorce.

Mathew had been a good man, she had met him four months after her ex. They dated for a year, he was a workaholic lawyer, criminal law in the state of New York was a guaranteed bankroll. He was good looking by all accounts, tall blonde and with large blue eyes. They were kind, his eyes. They conveyed emotion, and kindness and he never looked down on her, never made her feel inadequate or small. He had a beard that gave him a few years on her, and when he proposed a year after they met, in a cliché dinner, she nodded and extended out her hand.  
Matthew had never been given a chance, it hadn’t been fair to him. He had to compete against a ghost since day one, a living ghost, a background ghost, he hadn’t stood a chance. He didn’t know that at the time he proposed, neither did she. She though that all the past was water under the bridge, castaway, youth to be remembered. She had been wrong, she had been fatally wrong. The kind of wrong that destroys good things, turns ripe fruit into putrid atrocities, the king of wrong that turns beautiful cities into throbs of whores and gang leaders, the kind of wrong that breaks up a love. She could see it now the signs that marked the beginning of the end. She could see it now, as she let the last pages fall along with a red tipped pen, it made a stain in the pearl of the sheets, she scrunched her nose and pursed her lips. She’d get the maid to wash the sheets tomorrow. She was suddenly hungry, the wine in her hand was augmenting the feeling as it twirled in her left hand, she didn’t eat. She rarely ate now, she had lost two whole sizes, she was just as thin as all the models had ever been. She was thin and beautiful but she was alone. She hadn’t known how little of a change Matthew had until she walked down the aisle and almost said someone else’s name. A simple fluke, she had told herself. And then she had known 10 years later as he walked out the front door of their shared Manhattan state and said, “What’s their name? I want to know who I have always lost you to?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come off it, you’re in love. You are in love with someone else! “

“Matthew? I have never cheated on you?”

“Physically not perhaps, but your heart has never been mine. I can’t believe how blind I’ve been!”

“You’re being unfair!”

“I’m I?”  
“Yes, I have no idea…

“Maybe you should have fucked them, it would have been easier on all of us,” he says annoyed.

“I…”

“you know I’m right,” he looks back at her, at his wife. He looks back at the woman who he thought would be his wife for all their years upon this earth. He looks back at the woman who last their child twice, the one who he still loves, “what is their bloody name!”

“Miranda,” she says without thinking. The name had been pulsating in the back of her mind since she left runway. She had followed her career, all her successes she had looked out onto the crowd hoping to see her there, she had … she was in love. She was in love with an impossible. 

He raises and eyebrow, it makes sense. She looks into his kind blue eyes, the patient ones, the ones that reimd of her. And it makes sense why she chose him too.


	2. Chapter 2

He had the kind of gaze that makes you smile, it was soft and firm and sparkled like the ocean on a sunny day. It reminded Andrea of the night in Paris, when Miranda let her guard down. That night when for a few minutes Andrea had the privilege of seeing inside the ice walls of the Ice Queen herself. It turned out she wasn’t ice at all, but a soft breakable human being, a slightly broken soul, a damaged heart and it had changed Andrea’s world forever.

She took the glasses off and let her head rest on the back of the bed. It lolled and try as she did tears found their way down her face, it tasted like brine, like ocean water, like pain. She had known that night in Paris that she felt something for Miranda, well she had known before but that night was the confirmation of the catalyst. In Paris with a broken Miranda she had realized it wasn’t Hero worship or a Power crush as she had tried to tell herself, but love. She loved Miranda and there was no hope. If she stayed she would be nothing more than a love-sick puppy trailing around the great Miranda Priestly. She would be pathetic. 

Matthew had been the opposite of Miranda, he was soft and pliable and always smiled. Her parents loved him, her friends loved him, she thought she could love him. She thought at the moment when he gently pushed the ring onto her pale hand after champagne and steak that she could be happy with him. He would be her happy ending, her Americana, her lifestyle cover shoot; the house, the husband, the kids. The only problem was that she thought of Miranda all the time, of her face, and words, and the lingering of her perfume. She fantasized about telling her the truth, of seeing her eyes again. The blue of her eyes haunted her and she learned to substitute the blue of his.  
A year after their marriage the problems began to seep from the cracks, she tried to spend as little time at home as she could. Her idealistic dreams of print journalism had been derailed as she started editing for a newscast program. It was well paying, and prestigious but demanding. 

“I may be filing for divorce,” he said softly as he was packing his suitcase a month ago, “but you left the marriage years ago, nine years ago to be exact.”

“that’s not fair,” she argues back, but her argument has no bite, no energy, not truth. She knows he’s right. Her long hours got her promotion after promotion. She soon was not just editing but managing the department and soon the studio, executive VP for editing  
“I was building my career,” she keeps arguing. The argument falls on deaf ears and she wonders if this is what it felt when Miranda’s husbands walked out, when they blamed her for being called Mr. Priestly. Again, she thinks of her, that is all she ever could do. In lieu of having her, she became her. She became the workaholic, bitch boss, with stilettos and a panicked assistant behind her. She wonders if this is what Miranda felt when her husbands served her with divorce papers, and was it because she too did not love them enough. Did she hide in her job, in her persona, in the magazine and the lifestyle because she didn’t love the men that accompanied her to every gala?  
Matthew was right, all their arguments regaled over her like pieces of a silver screen movie. There were a lot of them, and he never lost his temper and he never complained, and most of all he always said he loved her.  
He shook his head on the way out, “you know what? It doesn’t even matter anymore.”  
His words dripped with defeat, the anger had seeped out. He no longer felt a think for her, indifference not hate was the opposite of love. The was no coming back. This is how it ends.

That was a month ago, 31 days ago, 744 hours, she had counted them. It occupied her mind, the mindless trivialities of life. Her hand ran over her dirty blonde bob, and as she finished the glass of wine she poured some more. This was her fourth, or fifth glass, she was too tired to count. Glasses of wine she believed should never be counted, not after your husband has walked out, leaving a folder for you to sign. She had not looked at it, the lawyer had called, the house was hers to keep if she wanted it. The house had a beautiful staircase, and a closet in the foyer, it had a chandelier hanging from the entrance, and tables with flowers, glass tables with flowers. She had insisted on the staircase, and the closet, and the marble for the foyer, and dark wood, just like she remembered Miranda’s townhome.  
Matthew had never asked why and she had lied to herself. She understood now, walking away from Miranda was not synonymous of forgetting her. She understood now, that marrying Matthew did not mean she stopped loving Miranda and fucking him did not mean she stopped thinking of her.  
Life’s a bitch. She wonders if Miranda even remembers who she is? The irony of the situation is not lost on her. Andrea has crafted her life around this woman, this icon, this impossibility. She has lost her identity, her friends, her passion and her husband for her. And Miranda probably doesn’t even know she exists. She saw her once. It was years ago, at a newscast event. Miranda looked at her from across the room, there was nothing but a blank face. She had hoped for a recognition, indifference it was. Miranda Priestly did not remember her assistants; but she had to remember the one that left in Paris right? Andrea was counting on it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always thoughts and feedback, welcomed. This is a little out of my usual Mirandy fanfic ... soooo let me know what you think?

FIVE-YEARS BEFORE

This was not how she had planned on greeting her husband from his business trip. It was two days after their anniversary. He had asked her to go with him to Paris to a human rights conference, “we can celebrate our anniversary in style.” He had said it with his half smile, the one that charmed her, his eyes sparkled and he drawled out the word ‘style’. It was supposed to be a fun joke, she shook her head. Paris… she hadn’t been back to Paris since Runway. It would not end well, she didn’t want to intertwine her memories of Miranda with his.  
“We haven’t traveled to Europe since our honeymoon, in fact we haven’t traveled anywhere?” he reproached. He was right. They had gone to England for their honeymoon. They had trotted in the rain and old castles, high on new possibilities and old cobbled streets. She did have beautiful memories of England, the rain falling softly over London Bridge and the view from the London Tower. She loved the historic red busses and the crowds assembling in from of Buckingham palace, adoring fans of an outdated monarchy. She smiled at him, for a second his eyes hoped and for a split moment she almost nodded.  
“I can’t darling, I have a newscast gala tomorrow,” she said. It wasn’t a lie. She did have an award ceremony, but her attendance was not mandatory.  
“Are you sure you can’t get out of it? It’s our five -year anniversary?” he kneeled next to her seat on the sofa and grabbed her hands. His hands were always warm, warm and soft and she immediately felt the warmth over hers, she was always cold. He was wearing a grey dress coat over his suit and tie. He was handsome, there was no doubt about it. Any woman would give her ovaries to be with him. She barely deigned to be with him.  
“I’m sorry Matthew, I wish I could,” she said again getting away from him into the living room bar and pouring herself a glass of scotch.  
“It’s not even noon, Andy,” he states. It isn’t a reproach, he isn’t pointing fingers, he states it to her interpretation.  
“So?” she raises and eyebrow.  
He never fights back, “why don’t you pour me one then? We will toast to our early anniversary.” He smiles again, defeated and sad but keeping up the smile.  
“To five more years,” she says.  
“And five more after that, to 10, to 20, to 75- year vow renewals,” he shouts and they clink glasses.

Miranda had been at that event, regal and aloof as always. Andrea had felt her before she even saw her, there was a soft buzz in the room, an electricity that could be felt. She had a midnight blue gown, taffeta with a dangerously low back opening and a low bow that became a train. It was accompanied by a diamond set and perfectly curled hair. She wanted to rush over to her, to ask how she had been, to ask about Runway and fashion week… to ask if she could love her.  
What an ingénue she was, for a moment Miranda turned. Andrea swore as she stood there three drinks in that their gazes met, suddenly someone came into her field of vision and just like that the magnificent moment of hope was gone.  
She could not remember what happened after, she had tried. She had tried to remember a million times, but the last thing she remembers is asking the bartender for something strong. That was Friday night, by Sunday evening when Matthew returned she was hospitalized. Her friends at the television station said she had a little too much to drink. How very unlike Miranda, she thought to herself as she heard the story weeks later. They had driven her home and called it a night. The maid had Saturday off, that day will forever be a mystery, something to look forward to when she dies, maybe God will regale her with the story. Anna had found her on the floor leading to the bottom floor bathroom, “you were lying there, it looked so peaceful, as if you had curled up and fell asleep; except You weren’t breathing, and I could not wake you,” the girl had later recounted. She quit that year, but she did stay on a few more months. She called an ambulance and Andrea had arrived on time to be saved. She had taken too many barbiturates with alcohol, and barely anything to eat, not that it would have helped. She spent three days in the hospital, and two weeks on bedrest, she was charged with a suicide attempt and had to go to therapy for three months. Matthew was worried sick, he could not understand how everything had spiraled down so fast, of why his wife was so depressed. He stayed home those two weeks with her, never told her that she had lost their baby with the suicide attempt. It didn’t need to be known. Andrea never found out that she was four weeks pregnant, perhaps if she had known she could have changed. During those two weeks there was a truce, Andrea spent every moment with him, they watched movies, and ate popcorn and slept in. There was a slight shift, she promised to herself that she would try, that she would give him a chance. They planned a trip to Rome together and she let him throw a post anniversary party.  
It lasted a while, this new- found effort. He thought that she was happier, and she was. In a sense, the effort to love him was paying off, but that was it. She had to make an effort to love him, and try as she may she could not stop thinking about the silver haired editor.  
After a few months of trying she was weary, she started to stay at work again. It was less exhausting to be at work, to not pretend than to be at home, to silence her mind, to fake complete adoration, to talk about the future. She started staying later than anyone else, often she would be the last of the staff to leave, save for the overnight employees and the janitorial staff. She started keeping a bottle of good scotch in her office, all the executives did. The difference between them and her was she changed it more often than them.  
“Andrea, you smell like alcohol,” Matthew would often say as she came to bed.  
“I had a drink after work,” she’d lie and he knew. That was their life, she would lie, he would omit and they would nod in silence.  
There was no argument in the world that she could have made to justify her behavior during all their years of marriage. She knew that any divorce lawyer in the city would argue about her absence from the matrimonial home, about her heavy drinking, her constant objection to her wife duties. He would win any lawsuit hands down, that was why she was only signing the papers. The house was hers, the rest would be divided in equal parts. She did not get any of his family’s state, and he got to keep the vacation house in the Hamptons that they never used.  
She knew that there was nothing she could hold against him, she had made his life miserable. She had turned a wonderful, good man into a bitter husband. With the years, even though she tried not to notice, she saw the sparkle in his eyes wane, his good humor fade and he rarely spoke to her towards the end of their marriage. It hurt like hell, she didn’t think it would, but it did. It hurt like hell when he locked the door behind him, and even more when two days later he sent for all his belonging to be collected. She knew it wasn’t necessarily that she loved him, though she did. She loved him softly as a friend, a partner, a man. She knew that it was the pain of failure, of guilt, of loneliness that had her calling off work today, sitting in bed with a glass and a bottle of Opus One, she knew it was the pain of broken hopes and shattered figures that made her cry and lean her head against the fine wood of their headboard. She knew that it was the right thing to do, him to leave. Somehow, she was happy for him, for the chance that he could have to find someone who would love him, unconditionally, just like she loved Miranda.  
Her last thought was a fucking irony, a cruel joke. The great Miranda Priestly, editor-in-chief of Runway, fashion maven, queen of New York didn’t even know who she was. Suddenly it’s all clear to her, why didn’t she think of this before. She has a grand idea, Donatella Versace kind of grand. A soft smile lights up her otherwise faded face. Andrea has had a lot to drink, most ideas at that stage seem great. Perhaps that was why she didn’t realize what she was about to do.  
“I’ll just tell her,” she hummed to herself, clumsily taking of the wedding band, hearing it clunk somewhere and putting on her shoes.  
“Mel! Mel!,” she called the housekeeper.  
“Call me a taxi,” she slurred.  
“Mam, I don’t think…” the young girl stammered. She wasn’t unused to seeing her boss wasted, in fact Andrea often passed out on the couch, specially the last month. Every morning Melissa hands her two headache pills, electrolytes and strong coffee. Neither comment on it, but they both know it must stop.  
“Just get me a fucking cab!!"


	4. Chapter 4

Perhaps it’s the cold New York air that enters through the crack in the taxi’s left window, perhaps it’s the coffee that Melissa had insisted she take with her or the fear that suddenly creeps into Andrea.

“Turn around,” she instructs the cab driver.  
“What?” he sounds annoyed, it’s the middle of the night.  
“Turn the fucking car around, I’ll pay you double,” she says. She had given him the address so self- assured, and she could not believe after all this years she still remembered the address to the townhome. She felt like Dory, repeating ‘P. Sherman 42, wallaby way, Sydney Australia.”  
“God lady make up your mind,” he mutters under his breath and she ignores him. The coffee is almost done and Melissa opens the door as if she had been waiting for her.  
“I’m so glad you’re back Mam’ that was fast,” she probes.  
“I… didn’t go,” Andrea mutters and slouches in the first chair she can find. This is the first time she notices what she’s wearing. The wrinkled clothes, the matted hair and the coat with the red belt. She chuckles softly to herself.  
“Call me Andrea,” she says out of the blue.  
“excuse me?” the maid sounded surprised, her boss has never been friendly.   
“Call me Andrea,” she repeats, “call me Andrea and let’s have some more coffee.”  
Her slur is still there but she’s more composed and takes out some leftover cake in the fridge to accompany their late -night coffee.  
“It’s ready, Andrea,” Melissa murmurs after a few quiet moments  
Andrea sits down on the stool and nods, “tell me about you Melissa, where are you from? What do you want to do with your life?”  
The young redhead widens her eyes and sips the scorching coffee that sits in her hand and is burning her. “I … I don’t know what to say?”   
“I understand the feeling, I don’t know what I want either,” Andrea whispers.  
“Do you have any siblings?” she smiles and the redhead nods again.  
“Yes, two…”  
They talk about family, and New York idiosyncrasies. They talk about love and heartbreak and disappointment. After the coffee is gone, Andrea gets up, she suddenly feels very tired and exhausted.   
“Can you wake me up tomorrow morning, at 5am?” she asks and the maid nods.   
“And have a cab ready by 6,” she continues as she holds the handrail and climbs the stairs.  
Melissa drops the cups in the sink and stand a few seconds in silence. She knew her employer was suffering the aftershocks of a divorce, but she also knew the problems had started before, she knew that Andrea was lonely but it wasn’t until tonight that she could understand the capacity of it. She felt bad for Andrea, it was ironic. She felt pity for the beautiful, successful, wealthy woman with a home in Upper East Side and a job that many would envy. She, a lowly maid felt sad for Andrea. She resolves to tear up her resignation letter, perhaps this stage would be better and she could not leave now.

The following morning, Melissa wakes her up and hands her coffee. Andrea smiles and nods, the pounding headache throbs and pounds and her stomach feels queasy just getting up.  
Nonetheless she dresses in plain black pants, and a fitted black t-shirt with a v neck, she tops it with a camel colored wool coat and a LV shawl serving as a long scarf. She descends the stairs with black flats and a camel colored clutch, her hair is simple combed back and her face is pretty much nude with the exception of dark eyeliner.  
“The cab is ready,” Melissa notes and Andrea smiles, grabbing the young woman’s hands.   
“thank you, for last night,” she says and walks out to the sunrise. She is not unaware of the parallel lines drawn up in the sand of this scene and the one that transcribed in Paris many years ago. The older woman, the successful career, the shattered divorcee. 

The feeling this morning is different from last night, she’s not angry anymore. She still thinks this is both a good idea and a very bad one. She has no clue as to what she will say, but she wants to try it. She wants to be able to cross it off her list, and say that she did it. She told the person she loved, that she loved them. After Miranda’s rejection, for she knows that is what it will be. She has no allusions, she isn’t naïve, she knows Miranda will look at her like she has just mispronounced Versace. She knows that she will ask her to leave her porch. If she’s lucky and Miranda kinder she may even get a cup of coffee. After the rejection, she has decided on therapy, therapy will be good for her. 

The entrance isn’t what she had imagined, Miranda did not answer her door. She is faced with a fresh -faced maid who asks five times who she is and why she needs to see Miranda. When the editor finally makes it to the door, she has resorted to leaning on the door frame.   
The editor looks her up and down, from the black fats to the brushed hair. She isn’t the picture of glamour but she’s sure she has taste. Miranda doesn’t move a single muscle, her face is schooled and she grabs the knob. The fashion maven is wearing a red blouse tucked into a blue pencil skirt and it’s evident she’s getting ready for work. It is only 7am after all.

“Miranda, good morning,” Andrea speaks to break the glass shattering silence.  
“Good morning, … Andrea,” she still says her name the same as before, “to what do I owe the pleasure of having you come to my door?”  
There is an underlying sarcasm in her words and Andrea wants to find out why but she thinks the best course of action is to just say what she came to say and leave.  
“I know you may find the next words pathetic but I have to say them. I promised myself I would say them to you today, and move on. I…” there is a deep breath that cuts her words. She feels the anticipation of failure, she feels incredibly nervous.  
“I love you, I have always loved you, well not always, since I worked with you. A little after. Definitely by Paris, I loved you then. I knew it was impossible, I had to leave. That was why I left, not because I didn’t like my job. Well I didn’t really like it, but I liked you, I loved you. I still love you. I have always loved you. I married and … well now I’m divorcing. I just had to tell you,” it’ s rapid and long winded and not at all what she had imagined saying. She wanted to explain, to make it sound poetic and dream like. She wanted Miranda to see a grown up, not a child who had a crush. Yet, this was better than nothing. She was shaking, shaking from the adrenaline that invaded her body. She shakily turned around and took the few stairs down from the townhouse. She had to will herself not to turn, not to look back. She turned left to walk away, not because she really needed to go left. She supposed if she walked enough she would both calm down and find a cab to take her home.  
“Andrea!” she heard the older woman call out as soon as she was a few steps away from the stairs.  
Andrea turned, she had to. She saw Miranda still standing at the door, her blue eyes hid the torrent of thoughts that bathed over her.  
As they lock eyes Miranda gestures for her to come, a simple shake of the head, “Come in,” she says softer now as the brunette turned blonde climbs the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

There is a long pulsating second, it drags on. If eternity had a textbook definition, if it was measured this would be it. The seconds elapsing between Andrea walking to the door and Miranda closing it lightly behind her. She did it so very softly, the soft click of the lock was just a thud and she pressed the palm of her hand over the seal of the door. Andrea remembered that her mother would do that when she was trying to not lose her temper, it was grounding, as if you put all your thoughts into pushing the door. Miranda seemed to be concentrating on the door closing correctly, as if this was the first time she ever closed the door to the townhome. She locked it, and only then did she turn slowly palms still against the door. Her gaze was directed at Andrea, she pulled herself away from the foyer into the sitting room, Andrea could only deduct that she was to follow her. The way was familiar, this was where Miranda would sit and edit the book. Not much had changed in the way of décor, though the younger woman was sure much had changed with the staff, the assistants and the twins.

Miranda is still not speaking, this can go very good or very wrong. Andrea doesn’t speak out of a vague memory of fear, but mostly because she doesn’t know what to say. She has said her peace, she has said what she came to say, she doesn’t know what goes from here. She can’t possibly imagine what Miranda has to say that will include them talking in this room, but Miranda is always a box of surprises. It was in this room that Miranda offered her Paris, she will never forget that.   
Miranda licks her lips and inhales, “it’s been such a long time Andrea.”  
Andrea is caught off guard by the sound of the older woman’s voice, she was so taken by the silence and the memories that she almost forgot Miranda was here. She nods, suddenly after her soliloquy she has no voice.  
“Why now?” the editor has poured a glass of something for herself. Andrea notes in the back of her mind that it’s only 7am, and Miranda who never drinks, is drinking.   
“Andrea?” the older woman asks. Andrea is aware there is a question thrown at her, that she has to say something, but her mind does not register what the question was.   
“Miranda?”  
“Why now? Why tell me this now?” she repeats and by now Andrea leans against the mahogany wall and takes a deep breath.  
“It’s a long story,” Andrea starts, “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”  
Miranda seems to think about the ten words that came out of the other woman’s mouth. She half purses her lips and throws back the drink. She pours another drink, and then one more which she hands to Andrea. Andrea shakes her head but the silver haired legend insists and then sits on the white loveseat.   
“Let me understand, you came to confess some sort of love, that has I’m guessing impacted your marriage? You came one early morning, and when I ask you to explain you say you don’t want to keep me? Keep me from what Andrea? Keep me from my day, which you already set behind, keep me from being affected by this confession? Keep me from an explanation? Why would you even come to tell me, if you didn’t expect to get anything from it? I don’t understand Andrea,” she stops.  
The blonde woman opens her mouth to speak but Miranda beats her to the punch, “if you didn’t want to explain, you should not have told me. Surely you remember, I’m not a woman who is content with half explanations and bad efforts.”  
Andrea nods, the clear liquid in her hands smells like juniper, it has to be Gin.  
“So, tell me Andréa…. What does this mean?”  
Andrea looks at the gorgeous older woman that sits across her. She too throws the drink back, her stomach doesn’t appreciate it, she feels the bile of a hangover rise but she controls it. Miranda notices, but says nothing.  
“I knew I loved you that day we did a fashion run-through at James Holt. I never planned it, and I’m sure it started as admiration but it went far beyond that. I loved your drive, your passion, and I loved the way you looked. I don’t know how to explain it, it was as if a string was pulling me to you. You were…” she stops and thinks.  
“magnetic,” the older woman finishes for her.  
Andrea nods. “I tried to cast it aside, say it was a Power crush, Hero worship but then Paris. The divorce, you were … well you. And I loved you more than anything. I had to leave, you just thought of me as an assistant,” she sets the now empty glass down.  
“Because you were,” Miranda interrupts confused.  
“Right, so I had to leave. I had to save my heart.”  
“I’m guessing by your presence here today that it was not saved?” the way Miranda says it is not meant to mock, it isn’t sarcastic, there is a melancholic quality to it, but it still bites.  
“well, I got married. Mathew was a … is a wonderful man. He was everything you were not.”  
“I wasn’t trying to marry you,” Miranda raises an eyebrow.  
“Right again,” Andrea says and takes the half drank glass from Miranda’s hands. The famous editor is surprised but says nothing as the young blonde drinks from the glass her lips had just been on.  
“So, the years passed and I could not stop thinking about you. I tried Miranda, I really tried.”  
“And then?” Miranda knows there is more.  
“I made Matthew miserable, and one night I saw you. I thought… I don’t know what I thought and you didn’t recognize me.”   
There was a soft reproach from Andrea, but Miranda doesn’t flinch.  
“I … well it was the beginning of the end. I became you, or I tried. A workaholic. He left a month ago, we’re getting a divorce. I wasn’t heartbroken for him,” she says. It’s the first time she has said it out loud.  
“But for what has ended, for what could have been?” Miranda finishes for her, she understands. She has been there. She has been there three times.  
Andrea nods once more.   
“Right one more time,” she smiles.  
“That brings us to today, I thought I could close the whole chapter if I just told you. I could move on,” Andrea chuckles lightly. She’s laughing sadly at herself.  
Miranda seems to process everything, her eyes gaze softly, she inhales a few times and rests her head on the back of the loveseat. After a few moments of silence, she pours both of them one more drink. Andrea doesn’t think this a good idea but she takes the glass anyway.  
“Like a step in a steps program?” Miranda asks. She’s referring to addiction programs and the steps that make you apologize to everyone you’ve hurt.  
Andrea shrugs, “perhaps.”  
The editor’s next words seem to take so much effort. She seems to think about each one, they are slow and premeditated, her eyes dance as she looks at the younger woman across her. This was not how she thought her day would start. She had a meeting with the Art Department, and lunch with Giselle about a cover. She’d have to push both back, maybe reschedule. It had been a surprise to hear that Andrea was at the door. At first, she had thought the maid has misunderstood, then she had to see what the ex-assistant wanted. Miranda usually never remembered her assistants. They were all the same, fashionable, young and thin, they all worshiped the magazine, they all knew who she was. She remembered Andrea, the girl who could do anything. She remembered Andrea, the one with morals and opinions. She remembered Andrea the one who tried to save her out of feminism and duty. She remembered Andrea who left her at the stairs of Paris.   
She’s brought back to reality by the other woman stirring, “what do you think I would have said if you had told me in Paris?”


	6. Chapter 6

“Before or after you asked me to go get you an extra hot latte no foam?” Andrea deadpans because sarcasm has been her tool for the past ten years. To learn to laugh at the situation without seeming to make fun of it was her only saving grace.  
Miranda looks shocked for a second, her eyes wander on Andrea’s face and she shoot the drink she had been holding in her hand. Suddenly real, clear and pristine laughter breaks the tension filled room. Miranda genuinely laughs, her laughter echoes and her ends with a smile.  
“I suppose I did deserve that,” she says and tilts her head at the blonde who chuckled slightly.

“What do you think I would have said that night? The award night?” Miranda asks. The previous lightness of the moment gone.  
Andrea shrugs,” who are you?”  
Miranda shakes her head as if she’s incredulous.  
“Honestly?”  
Andrea nods. "You looked straight through me!” she raises her voice.  
“You think so? Or was it you who didn’t come to me?” Miranda sounds like she’s baiting.  
“I didn’t think it mattered, you …”  
“I? You left me in Paris and I’m supposed to take the time to congratulate you on a generic TV show win?”  
Andrea bites her tongue, “I …”  
“You thought it would be better to end up in the hospital,” Miranda says and suddenly she gets up, looking over to the wall.  
“How do you know?”  
“I know a lot of things about you Andrea, I know how you got fired from the Mirror, and I know about Matthew, and the hospital. I know about the baby you lost two years ago, and Emmys you’ve won. You thought I wouldn’t want to know where the one assistant who dared to leave me, would end up? You didn’t think the only person I’ve ever given a handwritten reference to would go off to?” Miranda turns to Andrea who has now also gotten up and is standing beside her former boss.  
“Well, that’s that,” she says and leaves the last drink she was handed by the sofa.  
Miranda smile at her, and looks down at the un-drank Gin, “It is, thank you Andrea.”  
Her words hang in the air as she walks out of the room and leaves a silence.  
The young maid appears a few seconds later, “Miranda would like to offer you a chauffeur home if you so please.”  
The maid has dark brown eyes, and her hair is short and curly. Andrea takes a deep breath and shakes her head.  
“I’ll walk, thank you.”  
The maid nods and accompanies her to the door. It shuts loudly behind her, unlike before when Miranda shut it as if she didn’t want it to make a single noise.  
She walks the 10 blocks from Miranda’s house to hers. Her feet throb and she’s tired, but there is something completely different about her. The unconquerable was conquered, she suddenly smiles. Of course, Miranda didn’t suddenly declare that she had always loved her too, that kind of stuff only happens in romance novels and movies with Jennifer Lopez in them, but the conversation had been better than she hoped. Miranda had treated her like a human being, like an adult, like someone who deserved respect. She could let it go now, the childish illusion.  
“Mel?” she singsongs as she arrives home.  
“Mam…. Andrea, “the young girl corrects herself.  
“Call my assistant and tell her I’m taking a few days off, and then get me a list of rehab centers in Manhattan…” she pauses.  
“And um get me my mother on the phone,” she yells at her housekeeper turned friend.  
“Of course, got it, “the young woman’s answers.  
“And Melissa?”  
“Yes?”  
“thank you,” she barely whispers.  
The young woman barely answers with a nod and an “of course” and she’s off to do the tasks at hand.

On the other side of town Miranda contemplated the rain that had begun to fall outside her glass window. Her morning had not gone according to plan, in fact after Andrea showed up at her door she didn’t even know there was a plan. The younger woman’s visit had stirred in her memories of a past time, memories of Stephan and the divorce. Seeing Andrea so broken, so different, so changed had made her question why was it that she had followed the journalist’s career. What had prompted Miranda Priestly to care for years?  
She had taken the day off, it had been years since she did that. The last time was when Caroline broke her arm at 15. Her daughters where now young women, away in college. She chuckled at how fast her redhead trouble makers had grown up, and how wonderful they had turned out despite their mother.  
She had also been drinking all day, since Andrea arrived that morning. She hadn’t day drank in even more years, since she divorced her first husband. He served her the papers via a lawyer as she was getting a facial done. That had been a day for the books, they were now good friends. That was the only one of her relationships that had not ended splashed across page six. She took a deep breath. The bottle of red wine was half gone. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t sent Andrea away, if she was honest with herself she knew why she had followed Andrea’s life. What a mess this day had been.  
The rain is pounding now, the water hits the ground and rebounds back. A few of her neighbors are arriving home from their day at work and run the few steps from their cars to their homes. They are afraid of getting wet, a few drops on their precious designer clothes. The water stain will never come out of that leather Birkman, they will have to buy another one. They will have to take a shopping trip in their privileged little lives. She knows why Andrea hurts so much, because everything she has she has worked her ass for, she has sweated, and bled for that executive position at that TV channel dominated by men. She has endured being alone, friendless, she has been called a bitch more times than she can remember. She has worked twice what the men had to work and in heels, with perfect hair and a smile and at the end of the day they had been right. She could not have it all. She knows why it hurts that her marriage is over, even if she didn’t love Matthew. She knows exactly how failure feels. The kind of failure you can’t fix with a new shoot and increased sales. She knows how guilty Andrea must feel, that she caused her marriage to fail, but she knows the torture of not loving someone who loves you, someone who you are supposed to make happy.  
For a second she contemplates dialing her former assistant and telling her that she would have never asked her for a latte if she had confessed in Paris. Her hands pick up the phone, her fingers unlock it, but she puts it down. She pours the last glass in the bottle, the rain soothes now, silence is better. Andrea needs to find herself.


	7. Chapter 7

There is an unexplainable limbo between loosing and almost winning. Sometimes it’s better to lose, to know that you were so far off, so far behind that no effort would have mattered. Almost winning means everything was stolen, by someone that is usually named fate.   
There was nothing else she could do but contemplate the absurdity of her thoughts, she wanted to wake up, descend the stairs and get a drink. She wanted to add it discretely to her coffee or not so discretely in a glass but she couldn’t. She wasn’t home. She was in that stupid, insipid rehab center she had decided to join. Like she was an addict, she wasn’t? Was she? Everyone in New York drank themselves to stupor after their jobs, and their soured relationships, and their spoiled kids and their astronomical living expenses. Why was she different?   
Oh, yes because it had ended her marriage and her child’s life. That was the difference. Perhaps it wasn’t Miranda at all, but losing Alice at four months that had put the final nail on the coffin to use the analogy even more. Alice was going to be her salvation, she was going to be a great mother, and redeem herself. She was going to dedicate her life to the little girl and forget about Miranda or at least put her in the back of her mind. She was going to do everything she was supposed to, buy her the most beautiful crib, with stars that glowed at night. Alice was going to have baby clothes in all the colors, and she would take her for strolls every morning. She’d have the best and biggest birthday parties in the neighborhood and go to the best school in New York. She’d take her on vacations to Disneyland and the beach. She’d buy her a car at 15 and send her backpacking to Europe and when the moment came she’d be the most beautiful bride. Alice was going to have the perfect life, Andrea would make sure of it. Alice would be hers, only hers. Alice would save her. She had the most beautiful plans for the most beautiful little girl she never got to meet. She was going to show her to paint and to play the piano. They would have mommy and me dates, just the two of them. Andrea would take her to tea houses and make her happy. She would be the best mom, she could see it already. She couldn’t wait to hold her little girl, but then she drank. She had to, her days were so miserable. And she didn’t want to share Alice with Matthew, even though she should have. He loved her too. She didn’t tell him. I guess without knowing they both shared a secret. Matthew didn’t tell her about the firs miscarriage, and she didn’t tell him about Alice. She wanted to share this with Miranda, it sounded so stupid now that she said to herself, but it was the truth. She didn’t tell Matthew for three months, three months in which she drank, overdrank. When he found out he was livid, he was so upset he yelled at her. He never yelled at her, she cried. It was a scene. And then a month later she lost her.   
There was no way to ever forgive herself. The doctors said that the pregnancy was high risk, and the baby had not developed correctly. It was a miracle she had survived four months, most of those pregnancies barely make it that long. She would have lost Alice regardless. The doctors said it was not her fault, but there was no way she would ever forgive herself.  
Here in the outskirts of New York City, she had time to cry. She had time to finally mourn her daughter without the aid of Vodka and Gin.   
There was so much to finally think about here. She had almost won in the ten years that preceded today. Her mother told her she was ashamed of her when she found out about Alice.  
“How could you Andy?” the reproaches came fast and furious. 

“I don’t want to talk about it mom?”  
“I don’t understand honey? You have it all?” her mother questioned. She did, she did have it all. On paper her life was the American dream. Small town Ohio girl, goes to the big city, succeeds at her job, marries rich, has beautiful multimillion dollar home. 

“I … it’s not like that mom. You think I don’t feel like everything was torn inside me?”

“But why then?” her mother pushed. They sat in her large bedroom sofa, there was a grey plush throw on her and her mother who had flown from Ohio to help with the recovery was nursing a cup of tea.

“I don’t know,” Andrea finally concedes, she doesn’t want to explain. Her mother would not understand.

“You were so different before,” are the last words her mother utters before silence mantles over the room. They stay like that for hours, each drinking in their own thoughts.

Andrea had spoken to her mother before coming to the center. The conversation was muted and awkward but it felt good. She knew there was a lot she had to change but in a sense after Miranda’s conversation she felt good, she was kind to Melissa and to her mother and it felt like the old Andy. The pre-falling in love with an impossibility Andy, the young dreamer Andy. She still lived there, and she was going to get her back.

The irony to all of this was that after the visit Miranda was the one that could not stop thinking about Andrea. Sure, it used to happen before, she would sometimes remember her assistant. She followed up on her life, and at times had thought about sending her a message, a letter an invitation. It had all been just thoughts, frugal thoughts at moments of insanity. The truth was that Miranda was not the kind of person to ever initiate a relationship, she should not have to. Besides, she was sure that Andrea was not interested in her as a friend, or anything for that matter. She had run away from her as fast as she could, didn’t even have the decency to wait until Fashion week was over. It was as if she was repulsed by the woman she rode the car with, she ran away in the middle of a crowded street as never looked back. Why would the years make a difference? Why would the she ever want to talk to her?   
Andrea’s life seemed perfect, she was doing a wonderful job, promotion after promotion rolled in. She saw her win an Emmy, and then another one and another one. Miranda was pleased for her, she did deserve them all. Then there was that man she had married, another perfect point for Midwest Andy. She had married into the cusp of New York society and Miranda was sure they were the perfect couple. How could they not be? The newspaper social pages said it so. She would never reveal how she had stared at Andrea’s wedding photo, and it had stirred in a her something. It hurt and annoyed her, jealousy perhaps?   
It was then that Miranda had decided she didn’t want another marriage, she would never try another relationship. There was no point, she would never find someone that made her smile, that could do anything she asked, and understood her. She would never find someone because she already had.

Andrea’s visit had stirred all those feelings that sat at the bottom of the glass, unstirred. Andrea had said she loved her. Miranda should have said something back, something to keep her. Yet, now there was all this between them. The years of almost winning, and the blame for masked unhappiness. Miranda had no idea who this new Andrea was, from what she could tell by the state of how she came in, and the nervousness to take a drink from her there was an alcohol problem. Andrea had almost been a mother, almost a good wife, almost happy. Miranda knew all too well how that felt. She wanted to tell Andrea she would have understood in Paris, she would have driven her home at the awards, she would have rushed to share her pain at the hospital. She wanted to tell her, but she didn’t think it would make a difference. They didn’t know each other anymore. 

 

It took Andrea 80 days. After 80 days she was allowed to leave, and she could start counting her days, months and hopefully years of being … sober. It sounded foreign in her mouth. Sober was something for movie stars with coke addictions, spoiled rich kids with daddy’s money and street gang member who drank out of a paper bag. It wasn’t for normal people like her. It took her 80 days to sign the divorce papers, to be able to sit down in from of Matthew and genuinely say, “I’m sorry.”

He nodded, his eyes were still kind and blue. 

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“strange… better,” she murmured over the coffee they shared.

“Melissa told me, where you were. I wanted to visit, I wasn’t sure,” he stuttered.

“It’s fine. I know how much I hurt you,” she says.

He shrugs, “and her?” 

Andrea can tell how hard it is for him to admit his wife always loved someone else, someone who didn’t even know, someone who wasn’t what he thought of as competition.

“Nothing,” Andrea smiles.

“You should tell her sometime,” he comments.

Andrea shrugs again, she doesn’t want to say she already did. That it was the catalyst for her recovery. She rather let him think it was the divorce, losing him, loosing what they had.

“My mother came to visit, “she tells him.

“Good,” he answers.  
“Matthew, I really am sorry. I should have done this a long time ago. I’m sorry for everything. For keeping this from you and from myself, I’m sorry for not being able to make you happy. You deserve happy, and I’m sorry for Alice. I’m so so sorry,” tears scape her and he nods.

“It’s over Andy, we can move on now,” he smiles but Andrea knows he’s faking it.


	8. Chapter 8

“the airport was a nightmare,” her mother says as she unzips her carryon and takes out a set of grey slippers to change into.  
“All these flights coming in from Europe or something, the way these people dress! You’d think some come from a fashion show and the other half just got out of bed, whatever happened to jeans and a sweatshirt?”   
She had told her it wasn’t necessary, that she didn’t have to come, she’d be okay without the chaperoning. It hadn’t worked, her mother was probably driving out to the airport as Andrea insisted.   
“I’m sure,” Andrea said while she took the items her mother was handing her from the suitcase to the closet. She wasn’t sure how much time her mother would stay. In a sense, she felt comforted that her mother was there, like coming home. Looking at Amanda Graham was a lot like looking at what one could imagine older Andrea would look like. She had shoulder length brown hair that curved slightly at the bottom, and dark brown doe like eyes that expressed concern and care. She had a thin frame with curves, accentuated slightly by age and children, and pale skin that contrasted her brunette hair. The part that felt biologically close to this woman in the guest bedroom was at ease, content and comforted. The part that felt like her morals and ideals did not belong in Midwest Ohio felt nervous and uneasy.  
After putting part of the clothes away and having minimal conversation on the state of the airport and recapping how the clinic had been, Andrea descended the stairs leaving her mother to shower and clean up before supper.   
Andrea felt only calm seep in her bones when Melissa handed her a cup of hot tea and silence greeted her in the kitchen. Dinner was ready at 5:55 and her mother appeared in the doorway exactly five minutes after.   
“I always forget how beautiful this house is,” she said in her barely perceivable accent.  
“It is,” Andrea agrees, “I think I’m going to sell it.”  
“There is no chance of you and Matthew getting back together then?” the older woman throws out pulling out a chair and sitting a few feet from her eldest daughter.  
Andrea shakes her head, “No, Mom.”  
“But, now you’re better, I think you should try,” she continues. Melissa appears with the salad bowl and drops it in the center along with a water pitcher. She makes eye contact with Andrea who smiles.  
Andrea reaches for the salad and piles some on her plate, it’s crisp green romaine with blood red beets. She doesn’t like beets, they taste sweet and have a hint of maple.   
“Now that the cause of the issues is gone,” her mother continues skipping the salad and serving herself from the tray of mashed red potatoes that had made its way into the dinner table.  
“That wasn’t the cause, mom,” Andrea states. She doesn’t want to tell her mom, “the cause is that I was always in love with someone else, I love someone else.”  
She doesn’t know why she tells her mother, she’s unsure what good it can cause; yet it’s liberating. She wants the truth to be yelled across the mountain, she wants transparency in a life that has been lived in the darkness. She wants to have a conversation about this with every single person that crosses her life.  
Her mother turns and looks at her daughter. The blond is growing out, the brown roots show up to her eyes and the short bob is grown out in an uneven, asymmetrical style; that neither suits her, nor damages her. Andrea is wearing glasses and red lipstick.   
“What do you mean?” 

“I have loved someone else that wasn’t him, and that was the how the end started,” she states melancholy.

“But who? You never dated anyone else, was it Nate? Nate? It was just Nate and him,” her mother tries to make sense of this new revelation.

“No, it wasn’t Nate,” Andrea says and keeps eating the lettuce leafs on her plate. 

“Then who? Was there someone we didn’t know about?”

Andrea shakes her head, “it was someone from work.”

“from work?”

The younger Sachs nods.

“You never mentioned, your old boss? Henry? Wasn’t he older?”

“Not him,” Andrea is now annoyed, she wants to reel it in. 

“You never talked about anyone else, someone from the crew?” her mother is intent on knowing. The battle ground is set.

“Not from the station,” Andrea says pushing the salad away and getting some potatoes too, she cuts the fish. She servers her mother fish, too. Amanda doesn’t notice.

“From the mirror?” her mother seems confused.

“No, not from …” her sentence is cut off. 

“further back? You haven’t worked anywhere else, except the ice cream place in college, where you met Nate,” this time it’s a statement not a question her mother has run out of options. She completely skips Runway as if she had erased it from existence. She had either erased from existence or something told her not to bring it up.  
The matriarch sees the fish for the first time. 

“From Runway,” Andrea mentions.

“From Runway, I didn’t think there was anyone there. That Christian guy?”  
Andrea had almost forgotten about him, Christian Thompson. She shakes her head, he doesn’t even deserve an answer. 

“I give up! There were no other men,” her mother says matter of fact.

“Miranda, “ it’s a murmur from Andrea’s lips.

“Huh?”

“I loved … love Miranda” she confesses.

Her mother coughs, almost chokes on her mash potato and cheese. It’s like a bad sitcom without the laughter. 

“Your boss, Miranda Priestly? Editor in Chief Miranda Priestly, who is a woman? Who is married?” her mother looks pale and red at the same time.

“Was,” Andrea clarifies.

“was what?”

“Was married,” she says.

“Okay. Andrea, I don’t know what’s going on. This isn’t funny.”

Andrea takes a deep breath. “It isn’t supposed to be. It broke my marriage, it’s not a joke. I have always loved her. I have known for a long time, but I thought I could hide it. Matthew noticed, he knew. He left because of it, we’re both finally free now.”

Her mother stares in silence, the food is forgotten. She bites her lip, Andrea could see the wheels turning, the thoughts running rampart. The biggest confession has been dumped unceremoniously besides grilled halibut and mashed potatoes.

“I don’t understand…” her mother pauses, “are you… so you like women now? Have you always?”

“mom, I don’t like women. I don’t like anything. I love one woman, Miranda.”

Her mother runs her hands over her hair, it’s a sign of exasperation. 

“I don’t know what to say,” tears spring from the older woman’s eyes, but she’s not sobbing. She doesn’t know if she’s stunned, confused, angry. She doesn’t know what happens now, her daughter has just confessed something so big. She never thought she’d have to deal with something like this. No this was something that happened to other people. This was something that happened to other people’s kids. She had done everything right, brought up her children right, taken them to church. Why was this happening to her? And what does she say to Andrea?

“I … Andrea. This is ridiculous, does she even know? Does this woman know?”

“She knows now,” Andrea says.

“you told her?” 

she nods.

“But you left before?”

“Well, it wasn’t like I expected the most powerful editor in fashion to just love me back. I was a no one. I still am,” there is defeat in her voice.

“You told her now? What did she say?”

“Well she didn’t’ ask me if I was a lesbian for starters,” Andrea sounds defensive now, “she took it better than you.”

“Andy honey, I need time. I need space to process all this, I just don’t understand,” the older woman makes a reach for her daughter’s face but Andrea squirms back. 

“You know what, just take the rest of the evening. I have to meet a friend anyway,” Andrea throws and leaves her mother in the large table alone. 

“Would you like some dessert Mrs. Sachs?” Melissa offers after a few beats of silence.

“Graham,” she corrects the maid.

“excuse me?”

“My name is Graham, and no, no sweets just coffee, black coffee.”

 

Andrea has no appointment, no friends to run to. She could call Amy from video editing but they weren’t friends. They were co-workers who shared dirty jokes and drinks after work. She could call Reyna, she had invited her to her wedding and her baby shower, again the answer is no. She doesn’t feel like faking, like forcing chatter, like smiling.   
She should have known that conversation with her mother would be frugal, she should not have. Then again this was a brand-new start, clean slate and honesty. She wanted everything to be plain and visible this time around. She wanted everyone to know why everything had ended. That Miranda wasn’t at fault but her own secrecy. If she had told Miranda then, years ago, everything would have been different. She was sure Miranda would have rejected her but then she could have been broken hearted, she could have suffered it. She could have told everyone that mattered. She could have been honest with herself instead of hiding it under a rug for ten years. If it wasn’t’ for Matthew calling her out, she would still be hiding it. She then could have cried freely over it, and not drank it to sleep. She could have gotten over it.  
She calls Miranda, for a brief second it rings before she cancels the call in a state of panic. She has driven herself to the closest bar.  
“Whiskey neat,” she tells the clean-cut bartender. He pours it for her. She stares at it, she can almost savor it. She can feel it, she can smell it. The oak and the cherry and the distillation swim in the back of her mind.  
“I’ll take the check,” she says instead of touching the frosted glass and dials the one person she doesn’t want to.

“Hello?” the voice answers.

“Matthew? It’s me,” she knows he’ll save her. He has always been good for that.

“Andy are you okay?” 

“I told my mother,” 

“about the divorce?”

“about her”

“Oh,” he echoes on the other side of the line.

“good for you,” he says and he means it.

“yeah…”

“how did it go?” he asks.

“I’m a bar, I didn’t drink. Can you come?”

“Which one?”

By the speed in which he makes it, Andrea considers that he ran through peak hour traffic in New York, but leaves it at that. He’s casually dressed, and his boyish smile is still the same.

“Andy,” he sighs and she pats the stool next to her sliding the glass of whiskey to him and opting for ginger ale.  
“I know I shouldn’t have,” she starts.

“It’s okay Andrea,” he counters, “we’ll always be best friends.”


	9. Chapter 9

The sound of rain dripping down, pounding on the New York night, as well as the calming effect of the chamomile tea bought off a street coffee house and the drive home had calmed her.  
Nevertheless, she was glad to find her home completely dark and her mother off in bed.  
Tomorrow she would know what to say, tomorrow they would talk it out, tomorrow the sunlight streaming through the windows may lend a hand.  
The funny thing was Andrea did not wake up to sunshine and the smell of drying rain. She woke up to thunder storms and rain like she hadn’t seen in months. The sky seemed almost dark and her mother was not up by the time she had to leave for work. Traffic was at a maddening slow pace, she was undoubtedly late for her first day back, she would have to deal with the questions and the knowing stares and the pity looks. Poor Andrea, her marriage had failed, her husband had left her. She was a workaholic who drank too much and didn’t fuck him enough; not to mention she could not give him a child. Poor Andrea, rumor had it she was in a rehab center, she steeled herself to ignore them, to run her department like she always had. She was greeted as she always was by her assistant Beth as her elevator door opened and she was handed a green smoothie.  
“Welcome back,” the young woman said as Andrea ignored her remark.  
“What do I have planned for today, next time it rains send a company car,” she said.  
“Of course,” the already frazzled woman said, thought the last remark was an impossibility. It rained every day for months in New York. 

“You have…” the woman began.  
“I need a meeting with George,” Andrea began her well- rehearsed and memorized list that she had planned for today. 

“Okay, but…” again the woman tried to tell her something.  
“Call Miriam from editing, I need a list of what she’s working on. Have Johan my Assistant Editor come up to my office. I need a new pitch, then get the contacts for that one article we were going to do before I left, get me some coffee from the new place around the cor…”

She stops as she swings the door to her office. Sitting in her guest chair, facing the door, crossing her legs, and wearing purple dress that’s a little too tight to be decent is Miranda Priestly. 

“Good Morning Andrea,” she offers.  
Andrea can see the editor is already sipping coffee, 

“I was going to tell you, you had someone waiting,” Beth finishes defeated.

“I was under the impression you were always early,” she smiles, “I guess you didn’t learn everything from me.”

Andrea takes a deep breath, she debates between firing her assistant, turning back and going home and … well answering Miranda.

“Miranda,” she nods, “good morning.”

Beth stays at the door frame, there is a moment of silence. 

“You may go Beth,” Miranda sates. Beth looks at her boss, big brown eyes meet lukewarm violet ones and Andrea nods. 

“Go,” she says but it comes as a whisper. Beth turns around surprised, she’s never seen anyone treat Andrea like that. She’s never even seen the President, talk to her like that woman. It wasn’t that she yelled or screamed, there was something bigger there. There was power, centralized power, it was sensual and all consuming.

“Who’s that woman that came in,” she asks the receptionist.

“that’s fucking Miranda Priestly!” she answers.

“Oh shit!” Beth says more to herself than anyone. Miranda Priestly, the editor of Runway. The one and only, the fashion influencer, who was once a long time ago, rumor has it her boss’s boss.

“To what do I owe your presence here?” Andrea asks closing the door and ignoring Miranda’s presumption that she could boss her staff. The younger brunette takes a seat at her desk, she feels territorial here, this is her job, her life. 

“I thought you’d be happier to see me?” the editor asks.

It’s a very strange exchange, neither woman knows how to act. 

“Because I used to love you?” Andrea asks bluntly.

Miranda nods, “used to? That’s not what you said at my house.”

“I want to apologize for that day Miranda, since you’re here. I was completely out of line, I had no right. I hadn’t seen you in years, I had been drinking a lot the night before, I … it was a tough month. I wanted to thank you too, you were … more than courteous.”

Miranda raises and eyebrow and puts the coffee cup down, “thank you Andrea, I … I am sure you would have done the same.”

“Probably, but we all know you would have never knocked on my door, a fashion disaster and declared you loved me. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable or awkward,” Andrea seems so composed. She doesn’t even know where she’s getting the words or the strength from.

“I just wanted to check up on you, “ the famous editor declares.  
“I am fine, Miranda. Thank you again, I am at a much better place. I assume you know, I had some alcohol related problems,” the brunette grits her teeth. She looks across the table at her former boss. Miranda’s blue eyes look at her without blinking. 

“I don’t want to take more of your time,” she suddenly gets up, “I’m glad you’re better. My task here is done.”

Miranda gets up and nods at Andrea who has stood up to watch the silver haired woman go. This is it. Miranda has driven across the city, in a thunderstorm, waited for her, and then leaves without an explanation or a reason. There has to be more than that. She should ask, but where would that lead?

“Why did you really come?” she says, she can’t help herself. The strength she posed a second ago is gone. She really was sorry for making a fool out of herself, for barging into Miranda’s well composed life, for interrupting. She was thankful that Miranda was kind, she wasn’t sure how all this would have been different had Miranda been cruel. She was sorry for all that, but she wasn’t sorry for finally confessing that which had kept tormenting her for years. 

The older woman was halfway to the door, she turns coat in hand and smiles, “Oh Andrea,” she says. It's a condescending 'oh', it's a pity 'oh', it's a reflective 'oh'. 

“You’re so smart, and capable and so successful…” there is a pause. Miranda holds her smile as she walks to the door and puts her hand on the knob. “I would have thought you already knew.”

The door closes slowly behind her, why was she obsessed at how doors closed, Andrea asks herself. The phone rang as if on cue, as if trying to keep her away from heartbreak. Beth barged in, and her momentary peace was gone as the day unrolled in front of her.


	10. Chapter 10

The words kept bouncing in her head as she locked the door to her big empty house, they rattled in her brain as she stared at her reflection in the boudoir mirror and the collection of expensive bottles of perfume. Miranda had said, she should already know. What should she know? Andrea was definitely not meeting her expectations, how could Miranda think so much of her? What was Andrea supposed to know? The question didn’t let her sleep, she closed her eyes and replayed the conversation in her mind’s eye. 

“I thought you’d be happier to see me,” the editor kept saying.

“I used to love you,” Andrea kept repeating, she was lying to herself.

“That’s not what you said,” came the rebuttal.

It was an endless loop, ongoing and never ending. 

“You’re so smart, so successful, so capable,” praises meant to hurt.

There came only silence from the brunette in her memories. Silence mirrored by blue eyes, “Oh, Andrea. I would have thought you already knew.”

”I would have thought you already knew.”

“Already knew,” the words were an echo. 

The words followed her for days. Andrea was sure it was Miranda’s way of making sure Andrea would not visit her again. If she checked up on her, it was just to make sure no more unscheduled visits of a rehabilitating drunk came. She was sure the last thing Miranda wanted was page six and the story of the ex-assistant. She kept resolving to put the visit aside, to concentrate on the story board she was given for a new TV show. She resolved, but she didn’t keep the resolution. She found herself stating at the story board, the plaques of scribbles and drawings that were supposed to turn into real life actors on a set. She re-read the first page over and over, at least 10 times.

“What do you think?” Hector asked around midday, a week later after Miranda’s visit.   
“Huh?”   
“The story? It’s golden,” he said.  
“Yeah… I haven’t finished,” she said trying to sound like she had started.  
“Pilot?”  
“We’ll see, I’m going out for lunch,” she said and walked out of the office, leaving the short bald man staring at an empty chair and an unmarked board.

There was no lunch to go to. She drove the traffic filled streets of downtown New York, the old bitter buildings, dark and grimy like the city itself. New York was a living contradiction, the hub of business, modernity, fashion and the very core of East Coast glamour and fame. New York was where people came to make it; as actors, and writers and wall street wolfs. Here glossy, black Aston Martins swept by and no one batted an eye. Here wifes got bonuses for having children, maids strolled down Upper Manhattan in matching uniforms and choreographed steps to walk the strollers and out in Central Park millionaires bought out hotel penthouses to live in. Nothing was too much here. And yet; New York was dirty, and grimy, and full of trash. It was dark and urine infected, it had seen blood, and tears and horrid despair. New York was full of beggars on the street, and workers who barely made rent, and people who lived in the shadows.  
Andrea saw it as she drove, the glass made sky scrapers that seemed to shine in the sun. They were like polished mirrors reflecting the cars, and the birds and the people. She saw on the corners the grocery carts of the man who had somehow lost his way home, a homeless, a nobody. Somehow the drive took her to Miranda’s house. She found herself staring at the door again, compulsively parked outside the editor’s home. She was sure that if this was a movie, she’d be a stalker. The other option was that Miranda would come and knock on her window pane and explain what she had said, that would be a romantic comedy ending. Andrea smiled and shook her head, she wanted a drink more than anything.   
This is how it all had started, it helped her forget. Forget everything, Miranda, her husband, her life. 

The truth was she no longer found the inspiration, or the drive for work. It was one endless day transitioning into the next. She wrote a single sentence, “She loved her, like one loves the sunshine in a New York winter.”

One sentence that led her to a paragraph, a page, a chapter. Before she knew it amidst longer than normal lunch hours, signed divorce papers, sold homes and cups of coffee with her mother she had written a book and quit her job. One sentence led to months of quietude, sobriety and hope.

_____ 5 months later ______________

“You’re famous for going through assistants like cups of coffee,” James Corden asked a quiet Miranda.   
She had been forced to do a late -night interview. The show was filled with pre-approved questions Runway had ran by her before agreeing. This was not one of them.

“Is there a particular one, you wish had stayed?” The famous host asked. Miranda thought for a second dressed in her black floral Westwood top and white flowing Mark Jacobs skirt. Her legs were elegantly crossed at the ankles, dressed in her signature Prada pumps and bold statement gold earrings, matching her Cartier bracelet. 

It looked like she was going to shoot down the question. Her PR team nervously looked at the video in the back room, they swallowed and thought of how she would fire them. Instead they got a moment of silence from the editrex and then an answer, “Yes James, there was. There was an amazing, smart, capable girl … woman I wish had stayed forever,” the last words came whispered in velvet. Her gaze wandered a second away from the sparkly eyed man and unto the crowd. “I wish she had stayed with me.”  
It was hard to tell what she meant, the ever to be deciphered silver haired woman left it at that.   
“Very well, now we know. You can please Miranda Priestly,” he joked. She laughed because she had too, but sadness suddenly invaded her again. Not that it had left her much since that day at Andrea’s office. She thought Andrea would have figured it out by now. Sure, she could call her and tell her, she could explain what she meant. She could open Andrea’s eyes, but she could not take a chance on one more broken heart, one more shattered hope. No, she’d wait. 

“Coat, Bag,” she told the attendant at the television station.  
The terrified boy behind the counter handed her the required items as her current assistant ran after her, she should have had the items for her. 

The Mercedes Benz pulled up to the crowded curb and Miranda glided in, leaving her team wondering if they should meet her somewhere or go home. Miranda wondered too. And somehow, she found herself asking Roy to drive around New York.  
“Just drive around,” had been her exact words and Roy had been left to decipher what she meant. He had been left to decide for her, he had been left to guess that she wanted to go to the large beige house 10 blocks from her own. To the residence she’d made him drive by more than a few times. He had been left to expect she’d want to drive there and park across and wait in silence for something like she sometimes did. She hadn’t been surprised by her chauffeur’s accurate guess, he probably knew her better than she knew herself. She hadn’t been surprised, but he had been surprised when she opened the door and said, “You can go, come back in an hour if I don’t call you,” and walked across the street with a gentle sway and something akin to determination in her stride.


	11. Chapter 11

It had taken Miranda all the courage she had left to get out of the comfortable car and stride over to the towering structure of a home. Every ounce of strength and hope had been weighted on that simple act of slamming the door and telling Roy to leave. She didn’t want any witnesses if Andrea slammed the door in her face. Which she was hoping would not happen. She wouldn’t know how to react.  
She had no problem giving out commands out all day at work, she could muscle her boss into the most expensive photo shoots without a single loud word and yet here she found herself breathless.  
She had found that her desire for Andrea out-weighted the consequences. There was so much lost time, and yet perhaps it hadn’t been time then. She hoped it was time now.

She raises her delicate, well-manicured hand and knocks.  
Fate often had other plans than those we planned ourselves. This was one of those obscure twists of fate. This was the day all the final boxes were moved out from the home. The sale had been finalized and the move out date had been set in stone. There was no backing out, the asked price was met and then some, placed on the table and left for Andrea to take. Matthew had put the house in her name, it was hers, hers to keep, sell, burn to the ground, it was a parting gift for all the ragged years and a few good memories.   
Miranda arrived on that final day of the move, Andrea was not present. Melissa came out a few minutes after the knock and the doorbell.

“May I help you?”

From the door, the house looked empty and cold, a few small boxes of personal items piled at the foot of the staircase and two men in waist braces and yellow vests walked making a few notes. 

“I … was looking for Ms. Sachs?” Miranda could detect what was happening.

“Andrea is not here, she sold the house. I can forward a message to her?” the young maid asked. 

“Is she still in New York?” Miranda asked, she grew visibly uncomfortable by the moment. Miranda was not one to stand outside houses waiting, and now she had an hour of disappointment to soak. She could ask Roy back, he’d be here in less than five minutes. If she knew him well, and she did, he was probably parked in a nearby street.

“I’m not allowed to give out that information, who may I say came by?” the maid asked again.

It had been a warm day, a rare warm day in a typical cold New York winter. The sun had woken up the people of the old city and led them to believe there was hope. The forecasted temperature was 68 degrees. It was going to be a warm day by all measures.   
The people threw on a lighter than usual jacket, left their scarf at home. The sun rose and peaked in the sky, not a single cloud in sight. It was warm, the warmth reached down and caressed the flowers and the wet Earth. It touched the people who threw their face up and soaked it in. By noon it was still holding high and no menacing winds or dark clouds seemed to snake their way in like they usually did. What a beautiful day today could be. The trains arrived without delays and the congested snake of traffic down the old and confusing New York roads and bridges seemed to flow at a steady pace. No horrid accidents backed up the lines this time and at the start of peak hour the sun still held its place in the sky.

Miranda shook her head at the young maid staring back at her. She had to be in her mid-twenties. She reminded her of Andrea in a way, young Andrea who had left the Midwest boredom to come and make it in New York. She had made it all right, but it had cost her. It always does. There is always a cost to making in the big city, you lose something. The city takes something from you, it gives you fame, and money and dazzling lights galore. It’s beautiful, the glamour it sweeps you into. The late-night balls at the Ritz Carlton, the endless of flutes of fizzling champagne. The golden liquid fills the hands of minds of all the attendees. The blinding lights of the red carpet, how important you feel. Every journalist wanting a photograph, a comment, a quote. For those brief moments the world is yours, you’ve made it. New York is wonderful, in every summer in the Hamptons, the beach singing melodiously reminding you that only the privileged are here. The shopping sprees down 5th avenue, never worrying about a credit limit. This young woman reminded her of innocent Andrea, hopeful Andrea. The young beautiful woman she had met ten years ago. The woman that had oddly enough captured her heart and left her at the steps without making an attempt to tell her. That’s what it costs you. It cost you love and friendships and marriages. She should know, she had three broken ones to show. It cost you family, and important dates missed. It often spiraled into a coping mechanism. Clothes, drugs, alcohol, high end escorts and loneliness, whatever the vice, you could afford it. You had made it, and if you weren’t happy it must be a fluke. You were supposed to be happy. You had lost your heart in the process, this could not be how it ends.

“Mam?” Melissa proves, “who should I tell her came by?”

Miranda is taken back to reality, she bites her upper lip, shakes her head and clears her throat,  
“No one, it’s not important.”

The door closes and Miranda steps away from the shelter of the house, she’s about to pull out her phone and call Roy when she feels the rain. It doesn’t start as gentle drops, precipitating faster and faster. No, it’s not that kind of rain. That is left for spring showers, when the soft breezes sway and play with the rain. This rain sloshes Miranda, like a bucket of water has been thrown from the upper floor. She almost wants to look up to see if that’s the case, but she doesn’t. The rains falls merciless upon the city, loud, rambunctious, thundering and roaring. The sun is still visible, but the rain has no regards for the Astro king. It doesn’t care. The sun fights for a few moments, it doesn’t want to give up hope. The rain is strong, it’s powerful, it’s anger and disappointment claiming back the winter. The dark, black clouds roll in without warning. Mother Earth at its finest, making the humans down below run and hide, revenge for all the past mistakes and all the time wasted. How fitting, Miranda thinks. Redemption is never easy. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She finds some odd comfort in this sudden storm, and the reckless part that was hiding somewhere decides that it’s not that far from her own home. She decides to walk in a thunderstorm, in Prada heels and floral prints. She decides to let the rain ruin her black Burberry trench coat, not even bothering to button it and the accompanying suede clutch she holds.   
She should have called Andrea after Paris, she could have reached out when she asked for a recommendation, she could have. She should have sent her a wedding present, she should have showed up at her wedding and told her right before she walked up to the altar, told her that she loved her. That somehow in the long days and busy nights at Runway, she had fallen for her assistant. Told her that she lived for her smile, for her dark pools of brown. She could have held her hand and kissed her, told her that she often got distracted by thoughts of Andrea on her bed, gloriously naked underneath her. That when she answered, “that’s all,” it wasn’t’ all. It was just that she was thinking of stripping of every clothing item Andrea had taken from the closet, and watching it slide down her hourglass figure, and fall to the floor. She was too distracted imagining how it would feel to touch her, to put her lips on her breasts, to trail up her collarbone and down her abdomen. That she wanted to make love to her in office, atop her glass desk or in the tiny loveseat of her foyer when she brought the book over.   
She could have done so many things over the years instead of following the young brunette behind a computer and in silence. She shrugs as if she was actually having a conversation with someone. Her clothes are drenched by now, her hair completely slicked to her face and she’s sure no one would call her the queen of fashion. The few pedestrians walk down hurriedly with an umbrella and look at her as if she’s escaped the psychic ward. She keeps walking, block after block. By the time she finally arrives at her door, she’s tired, bone tired. She can feel blisters on her feet, and pain in her arch. Her legs hurt, her arms hurt, she’d cold and wet and tears mix with rain. She’s never felt this tired before. Her soul is tired.

“Oh Dios Mio!” Cara exclaims as she enters the door.

“What happened?” the maid fusses over her boss but Miranda shoos her away.

“I’ll be fine Cara, thank you,” she says.

“Do you want a cup of tea, coffee?” the maid insists, “You’re going to catch a pneumonia, where is Roy??”

“I didn’t call him, I’m fine,” Miranda manages to say as she climbs the stairs and leaves the maid flabbergasted. She’s never seen Miranda like this, wet and in complete disarray; but more alarming refusing help, not asking to be pampered hand and foot. She didn’t ask for dry clothes, hot baths, towels, tea, nothing you would think of for someone who was caught in a storm. Cara leans against the wall, she doesn’t know what to think or do. She’s never seen Miranda act like this, was it something at work?   
If she didn’t know better, she’d dare to say her boss was broken hearted. If she didn’t know better, but she did. Miranda didn’t love like that. She had seen the powerful editor go through three divorces, three men yelling in the foyer how unfair she was, how much of a workaholic she was, how much of a bad wife. She had seen her boss always head high, shoulders squared facing the broken marriages as if it was just one more day at the office. Sure, when her first husband James had served her papers at a spa, Miranda had been sad. She had cried and drank wine and stayed home. She had sat staring at her window and not taking calls wondering if indeed it was her fault. She had been sad, but not destroyed, not hopeless. The other two divorces had been easier, if that was possible. Miranda had seen them coming a mile away. 

So, there was no clear explanation to Miranda’s erratic behavior. She would just have to wait and see.


	12. Chapter 12

Andrea walked into the living room, eyed the new beige sofa still wrapped in plastic and kicked off her shoes. It had been a long day.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” she said out loud, Mel was a few feet away and in theory the statement was said to her but in reality, it was said to no one.

“Want a cup of tea?” the maid turned personal assistant asked.

Andrea nodded, “that… would be wonderful.”

Andrea had woken up extremely early, driven to the house to see if any final things needed to be picked up, had lunch planned with Daniela, her proofreader, got a call from Wyatt the publisher about postponing dinner, got caught in the rain on the way to pick up Melissa from the house and finally arrived to find out Melissa had taken a taxi. She went to pick up the final copy of the book and once again ran by the publisher to get the final version of the tour.  
She could not believe that she was given the opportunity to not only publish a book but do a tour with it.

Melissa walked over to the kitchen in the new apartment, a demotion from the mansion they lived in before but elegant by all standards. It was easier to keep up with, suited Andrea’s newly single life and would save her money now that Matthew and her had finalized the divorce.

“When does the book tour start?” Melissa asked, large eyes setting down on Andrea’s face as she set the tea down. Her eyes scanned the older brunette and finally rested when she received a smile back.

“In a week,” the brunette let out. 

“That’s so exciting!” the assistant answered and sat down across Andrea. The brunette stood up and took the cup of steaming coffee of the table. Chatting with Mel, having a friend in her made her feel like the old Andrea. She was nice, and carefree and smiled to everyone who would smile back. She had been thinking about Miranda in the months that transpired between the office visit and today. 

“It is, the first date is just outside of the city and then I have a week in between until we go down the coast and Boston. If it looks successful after the main release date we can talk about a nation-wide tour.

“Wow, that’s crazy!” Melissa said, “who would have thought.”

“I guess a non-reciprocal love story always is a big sell,” she sips her tea.

“a shared human experience,” the younger brunette smiles.

“I don’t think you have shared it, “Andrea smiles.

She shrugs, “do you think that person will ever read your book?”

“I don’t know, I don’t even think she wants to know about me,” she pauses and thinks back to the office visit. It killed her to not know what Miranda wanted. If she was honest she had an intrinsic idea. She had this crazy thought that maybe Miranda felt the same way, maybe she loved her too. That would explain why she knew her whole life story, the kind words when she confessed, it would explain the out of character office visit.  
She had entertained that idea for a few months now, but she knew it was insane. Miranda would never care for her. 

“Well someone wants to know about you though, someone dropped by the house today,” Melissa casually drops while scrolling her phone to order food.

“Chinese?” 

Andrea shakes her head, “let’s get sushi.”

“Sound good,” she says scrolling again.

“Who was it? Daniela? She called me after lunch, forgot to give me something she said,” Andrea is nearing the end of her tea cup. 

Melissa shakes her head, “No, it was a lady. She had aviator sunglasses, …” she pauses.

“What?” Andrea turns around to face the younger woman,

“Yeah, she seemed whimsical … silver hair, a leather clutch,” she stops, “said it wasn’t important and left.”

Andrea sets the drink down with a thud, “what do you mean? What did she ask?”

Melissa narrows her eyes, “do you know her?”

“what did she ask?”

“I don’t know, she asked for you,” Melissa says.

“And?”

“I told her you sold the house, and I could not give information,” she finishes.

“What was her name?”  
“That’s when she said it wasn’t important and left, I … Oh my god,” he eyes widen and she suddenly understand.

“Was that? Oh shit! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it…”

Andrea gets up and grabs the keys from the table, “I have to go,” she says.

“Andrea it’s late, it’s almost midnight,” the young woman tries to reason.

“It will be fine,” she stammers looking at herself in the mirror. She has got to stop looking like this every time she goes to see Miranda.

“It’s still raining outside, it’s not safe,” again the maid tries to reason but Andrea has the door open.

“I have to go now, “she looks at her assistant and her eyes reveal everything. 

By the time Andrea pulls up to the townhouse it’s fifteen after 12. The street is quiet and as expected there is no room to park, she doesn’t care, she double parks, sets her hazard lights on and runs the few steps to the door.

The minutes it takes for an answer are exasperating but after a few agonizing moments and quiet voices behind the door Miranda opens the door, “Andrea?”

Miranda looks like she was asleep, she’s wrapped in a velvet robe, lilac and black trim. Her hair is mussed and she has no makeup on. She looks composed but tired and Cara stands watchful a few feet away.

“Melissa told me,” she lets out. 

“who’s Melissa?” Miranda answers.

“My assistant, the girl at the house. She told me, well she didn’t know it was you, but I knew. As soon as she told me, tell me it was you. Why didn’t you call me? I … “ 

Miranda blinks and looks at her, she opens her mouth then she closes it, meanwhile she makes no effort to let Andrea in.

“What was I supposed to know?” Andrea asks.

Miranda looks genuinely confused.

“When you came to the office, I asked you why you came and you said… I should already know?” Andrea explains quickly.

“Well you obviously know, since you’re standing at my door… again,” it sounds clipped and annoyed but it’s not. This is Miranda teetering on the edge. 

“I think I know. I could be wrong. I don’t want to be wrong. I could not bear it. Not after everything … I mean… someone like you…” she stops takes a deep breath.

“would you like to come in?” Miranda finally offers.

“someone like you does not love someone like me,” Andrea finishes and raises her dark lashes, her makeup is slightly washed off but there are traces of glitter and she smiles.

“So…you do know?” Miranda purrs. The tiredness of the day seems to wear off slightly and she meets brown orbs. They stare at each other.

Suddenly she turns to Cara and says, “can you make some coffee? I think we all need some.”

The older maid nods and waltzes off to her kitchen domain.

“Now, Andrea,” she repeats, “would you like to come in?”


	13. Chapter 13

Andrea nods and silently enters the familiar home. The bravado of a few seconds ago is gone. Miranda has for all intents and purposes agreed with her, she does love her. The severity of what this means settles on Andrea, not because she’s scared but because she’s mad. She’s mad that there lays between them time lost, like pools of waste that can’t be recovered. 

She sits on the far left sofa of the studio where Miranda always sits to wait for the book. Miranda sits to the right. They are no more than a few feet apart. Silence seems to sweep them both, as they wait a few ticking minutes until the soft rattling of porcelain on a silver tray approach. Cara sets the tray down on the coffee table and stands guard for a few seconds. Miranda reaches for the pot, “that will be all Cara, thank you.”  
The maid nods and walks away, “tell Rosa I won’t be leaving at 6 today, she can have everything ready for me by 10.”  
“Of course, Miranda,” the older maid replies without even turning back. Rosa must be the young maid that answered the door last time. Miranda pours coffee for them both she sips hers without sugar but sets the caddy close to Andrea in case it’s needed. Andrea pours the sugar like she were mining diamonds, like the higher dose would tell her exactly what to say.  
Miranda looks at her above the coffee cup, blue eyes, clear blue eyes, like light skies in Florida. 

“So, now you know,” Miranda states simply. 

“I guess I do,” Andrea answers back.

“Why does it matter now?” Miranda asks.

“I guess because you went to look for me today, and six months ago and I … I have been looking for you my whole fucking life,” her statement takes on a much more different light than she had expected. The raw anger and confusion of all those moments ago comes back. Andrea gets up breaches the few feet that separated them, with soft force takes the cup away from her former boss and kisses her. It’s not gentle, it’s not elegant, she didn’t mean it to be. She didn’t need permission, she pushes the older woman into the sofa cushion, she rests her left knee on the edge of the chair and her one hand comes to rest on the back edge while the other cups the cream of Miranda’s face. She kisses her with everything she has, brown locks falling over her face, tongue sweeping soft lips, she continues to press Miranda against the couch until she’s straddling the older woman who has said nothing at that point. The only response Andrea has gotten was the reciprocal cupping of her face and a roaming hand on her waist.  
Breathless she breaks the kiss, only to trail down her jaw bone and her neck. Again, she received no response from the fashion diva, except silence and acceptance. That had to account for something, right?

Miranda doesn’t want to speak, she doesn’t trust herself to speak. This moment should have happened a long time ago. In Paris Andrea should have kissed her in Paris, instead of scampering off like a wounded cat. She could not blame the younger woman though, she had acted cold and distant. She could have told her then, but she didn’t know herself. She didn’t know that the light weight of Andrea straddling her, brown hair cascading over her and those lips kissing her dangerously close to her bra line would be all she ever wanted. Perfection.  
The dangerously close, gets close and Andrea pulls down Miranda’s robe to expose a black lace bra, low cut and easy to nudge down. Miranda is about to push her away and maybe talk about all this when she feels the tips of her breast pulled sternly into Andrea’s delectable lips and all her self-control fails her as she lets out a moan, “Oh my God Andrea.”

There is not much more encouragement Andrea needs to keep going, she pushes her hair out of the way in one motion as Miranda tries half successfully to reach inside Andreas blouse and touch her. Andrea is busy with Miranda’s breasts, both exposed and bra cast halfway up. She unties the editor’s robe to admire for a brief instance the matching garment and the firm abs, but this isn’t the moment for admiring. Andrea has heat boiling inside her veins. She wants to make this woman hers, to account for all the lost time, the years of silence, of tears, of thinking that she was dreaming. All the years of thinking that someone like Miranda, did not love someone like her. She had told her mother this was impossible, oh my god, her mother. She had forgotten, but she won’t think about it now. In fact, she already forgot about it as she slides her hand expertly down the editor’s abs and in between her legs.  
Miranda moans some more and it’s enchanting to see her so undone, so vulnerable and so silent. Andrea wishes she could see this from afar, but she’s too preoccupied with finding the right notes to play on Miranda.  
“Oh Andrea, fuck!” the usually composed and elegant editor cusses and Andrea can’t help but smile. She slides down from the chair to her knees to place butterfly kisses on Miranda’s legs and thighs and position herself between them. She looks up, for permission or approval she’s not sure. She is met with stormy blue eyes, completely different that those asking her a question moments ago.  
She’s met dark, lust filled eyes that want so much as Miranda licks her lips and runs a free hand over Andrea’s hair. It’s as much as she’s getting from the older woman as makes her arch and yell her name a few more times.  
It was a scene to remember. Miranda half naked in her studio, and Andrea kneeled between her legs.  
“Oh, shit,” Miranda exhales after the aftershocks filter through her body. Andrea is still sitting on the floor, resting her chin on Miranda’s upper leg. The silence ensues again.

Suddenly Andrea laughs it’s short and tired. Miranda looks down at the woman who just made love to her.  
“What can possibly be funny now?” 

“So,” Andrea starts, “do you want to date me?”

Miranda stops for a second, it’s said joking. That is what Andrea does, she deflects, in the face of seriousness she deflects. Miranda knows it would serve no purpose to deny this. They both want each other like the flowers want the sun, stretching their vulnerable limbs to reach its heat. The want each other like the ocean wants to reach the shore, consistent and never ending. They have been wanting each other for a long time, trying to deny its existence. It didn’t work. Here they in the hazy dark morning on an unknown day, about to drink the rest of that cooling coffee after Miranda let this young woman roam her body without saying a single word in protest. She knows that is she said no, they will part today. They will part for days or months or maybe years both thinking about the other like children think about summer vacation, with longing and need. They will part but eventually they will meet again, like chance magnets that attract each other. She knows there is a lot to talk about. The trivialities, the oddities the logistics of this un-usual relationship. She knows it’s going to be fucking hard.  
Andrea knows it too, as she stares up at the woman she has loved for over a decade. She has wanted this more than anything. She would have given everything up for her, the career, the house, the trips, the fame. She would have stayed loyal to Miranda, waiting for her to come home if it meant having her.  
She knows her mother will oppose this, maybe her friends, she doubts the book tour results now but none of it matters. This is movie love, true love. That kind of love that lives through everything.  
Miranda smiles, blue eyes sparkle. Andrea hopes, Miranda nods. 

“Yeah, seems necessary,” she answers. 

Andrea chuckles at the editor’s response and smiles too. 

“Well, that’s that then,” she retrieves herself from the floor and picks up the coffee cup like nothing has happened. 

Miranda ties her robe and copies her now girlfriend in drinking cold coffee.

“you know this isn’t the end, right? This isn’t a happy ending, there is a lot…” Miranda is cut off,

“to talk about, I know,” Andrea answers.

“But not tonight,” the brunette says softly.

“Okay,” Miranda sighs and gets up offering her hand to the woman opposite her.

“I’m tired, it’s been a long day,” she tells Andrea, the brunette nods.

“Can we start over tomorrow? Let’s go to bed now,” Miranda says like it was normal. She lays it down like they did this every night. Having coffee, and sex and going to bed.

“Okay” Andrea agrees and takes the pearl colored hand that is extended to her. 

Tomorrow they could sort this out, or so she hopes.


	14. Chapter 14

Miranda’s hair looked perfect, there was a slight bounce to it, and it settled well into the ombre shade of dark silver at the base. Her face thought almost bare, still looked smooth and her eyeliner held steadfast. She’d have to ask what the brand was. The thought made Andrea smile, which in turn made Miranda smile. 

“What are you thinking off?” she said as her hand reached out to the younger writer and tucked in her shoulder length hair. She was glad Andrea had let it grow into her natural shade of brown, blond though stunning on her, made her look like a complete different person. Diamond eyes scanned brown pools for an answer. They lay scant of clothes and covered only by a sheer bedsheet in Andrea’s apartment. They had met constantly in the mere eight days after Andrea’s impromptu visit to the townhome. 

This time Andrea had invited Miranda and cooked for her. Mushroom risotto and chicken Cesar salad. 

“I didn’t know you cooked,” Miranda had said as they drank sparkling lemonade and loitered on the dining table.

“I didn’t know you ate carbs,” Andrea deadpanned and Miranda almost spit out her drink.

“Too early in the relationship for those words,” she said joking.

Point at which Andrea leaned in and whispered, “then let’s not talk anymore.”

This had been the pattern of the last four visits. They had dined out, had coffee, spoken about everything and anything that was not the logistics of their relationship and then either parted or ended up in bed. 

This morning, Miranda looked at Andrea, the dip of the sheet where her body curved, the mess of her hair on the side her face rested, the slight black of her eyeshadow under her eyes.

“Are we ever going to talk about us?” she asked. She loved dining with Andrea, she loved getting to know the woman she had fallen in love with many years ago. She wanted to meet her again, she wanted to know who she was, how she had changed. She wanted to know everything about her. She loved their diners and being close to the younger woman. It was so new and yet it felt like they had always known each other. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the part that came after, letting Andrea kiss her passionately, undress her carefully, she enjoyed running her palms down the flat of Andrea’s stomach, down the curve of her well rounded breasts, and up her thighs, she enjoyed the look of glossed over lust that crept into the young brunette as she did so. She loved having Andrea come undone before her, to have her underneath her, to make those fantasies she always had come alive. She loved it all.  
That wasn’t’ why she wanted to talk about them, she wanted to talk about them for two reasons. 

One because Miranda was a logistics kind of women, she liked lists, and facts and she liked to have plans, to know outcomes, to know what happens next. She didn’t want this to be something that simply wandered around. She wanted a plan, an execution.  
And the second reason was because she wanted to know how Andrea felt, wanted to tell her story and for Andrea to tell hers. She wanted to know what Andrea wanted out of this, how they would face the press and tell the twins and where they were going to live. She wanted to know if Andrea wanted to get married again, of if she wanted a partnership, she just wanted to talk about them. She wanted to hear Andrea say once again that she loved her, and most importantly she wanted to know this was forever.

“Sure,” Andrea said after a moment of hesitation, “what do you say we grab some coffee in the kitchen and talk?” 

There is a broad smile after her words and she inhales. She’s been avoiding this talk. She doesn’t want to know specifics, she doesn’t want to tell past stories of mistakes and wasted time. In a sense she’s opposite Miranda, she hates putting the cards on the table. She’s afraid the well -dressed diva will tell her she just wants an affair, to keep this under wraps and see where it goes.

Miranda nods, “sounds acceptable,” she murmurs and gets up wrapping a nearby robe around her thin frame and walking barefoot to the bathroom. Andrea slips into a pair of black silk bottoms she finds and a white tee that she had worn the night before. She slips on her house slippers pulls her hair up into a small bun and walks over to the kitchen across the living room and with large windows facing the street. She opens the top left -hand cupboard and pulls out two identical cups, white porcelain rimmed in gold. She had matching coffee sets, and tea sets and the best espresso machine she could find. They were all remnants of her marriage, pieces of the ten years she had spent trying to imitate Miranda. She had imagined what Miranda’s china looked like, the color scheme of her house, the dark blue of her bedroom, the muted colors of her foyer. She had bought everything designer, not because she cared but because she knew Miranda cared. Everything from the Baccarat wine glasses to the Swarovski chandelier. She set the two cups on their corresponding saucer and spent exactly two minutes deciding what coffee to use. Did she want the K-cup French vanilla, the Starbucks brand? Did she turn on the espresso maker and use Illy? Did she brew simple coffee? Did Miranda want an Americano? A cappuccino? What kind of coffee did Miranda drink at home?

“Tough choice?” Miranda asked from the frame of the window.

“I wasn’t sure what you drank at home?” Andrea said her voice getting smaller as she ended the sentence. 

“I drink black coffee, or Americano when I’m in the mood to make Cara work,” she winks. 

“Okay …” Andrea sighs.

“But darling, I’ll drink anything you make,” she says, “I just want to spend time with you, whether you make mushroom risotto or hot dogs, whether you own mismatched cups of coffee or those Baccarat glasses in the wine bar.”

Andrea winces at the words, of course Miranda would notice. 

“Weather all your sheets are deep blue or if they are off-color white. I just want to know you.”

She had not planned to say all before she even sipped coffee but it had come out upon seeing the younger woman hesitate, her anxiety was obvious. If Miranda had one thing going for her it was she knew how to read people. The writer seems to relax and nods, “thank you.”

She puts the espresso machine to hum while adding hot water to two cups and putting a creamer on the table. Once it’s done she pours the shots on each cup and slides one quietly to Miranda. 

“This floor is cold,” Miranda comments after taking the first sip of coffee. Perhaps it was the warmth of the coffee that contrasted with the wood of the kitchen.

“Let me get you a pair of slippers,” Andrea jumps from the kitchen stool.

“It’s okay,” Mirada states.

“I’ll be back in a second,” the younger woman insists.

As she’s rushing to the bedroom the doorbell rings, “can you answer it?” she shouts over to the older woman.

Miranda hesitates, are they at the stage where she can answer the door? She does it anyway, lazily opening the oak wood to the marble hall. 

“Hello,” she says to the woman on the other side of the door.

“I’m looking for Andrea?” the woman stammers, Miranda feels like this isn’t really good. Who is this woman?

“Who is it?” Andrea’s voice floats down to the door as she exits the bedroom carrying a pair of loafers.

“Your mother,” the woman on the other end answers and lets herself in slightly pushing Miranda aside.

“Oh, shit! Mother?” Andrea whispers loud enough for everyone to still.

“I’m guessing you forgot I was coming today, I gave you the flight two weeks ago,” her mother reproaches but not sternly enough. There is something else she’s looking at. The state of dress or rather undress the two women are in. Andrea in her silk pajama bottoms and sheer tee without a bra where everything was visible and Miranda wrapped in a robe with clearly nothing underneath. Her mother eyes the cups of coffee on the table and the look in her daughter’s eyes. 

“I think I should go,” Miranda says.

“No,” Andrea affirms using all the strength she had, “stay.”

Her mother looks at the editor. 

“Mom, this is Miranda Priestly, Miranda this is my … mother Nancy Graham Sachs.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Miranda says with all her editorial elegance given the awkward circumstances. 

“Andrea? You said this would never happen,” her mother challenges. 

Andrea shrugs, “Coffe?”


	15. Chapter 15

“Well we definitely talked about it,” Miranda half chuckled as she leaned into the kitchen island and stared at her empty cup of coffee.

“I’m sorry, that was not at all how I had planned it,” Andrea sulks as she brews some more coffee for the both of them and takes out a few pieces of toast.

“No, I don’t think you planned it at all,” Miranda says her tone slightly graver. She’s not sure what her emotions should look like, she’s not angry but she is upset. She doesn’t want to be, she knows it’s not Andrea’s fault who her mother is but how could she forget her mother was coming. It would have made things simpler if they had met in different circumstances. 

Andrea can see the wheels of the older woman turning. She didn’t know what to say. Their relationship was so new and fragile. She was shocked that Miranda had stayed and dealt with the situation. 

*************************** 1hr before **********************************

“Andrea, you promised this would not happen?” her mother had boomed ignoring Miranda’s well-placed salutation.

“Coffee?” Andrea had asked her mother trying to bide time. 

Her mother had given a lengthy sigh, “I suppose I’m not going to get an explanation otherwise,” she scoffs and walks toward the kitchen. "I’ll make some coffee, maybe you two can put some clothes on.”

The statement is nothing but biting and Miranda has to use all her composure to not go off on the elder Sachs who kept the last name only because of her daughter but Richard and her, had been divorced for a few years. Miranda doesn’t utter a word but simply heads off to the bedroom followed by Andrea who says, “we will be right back.”  
Miranda is already dressed in black slacks and a loose silk shirt that tucks in expertly and ties a bow at the neckline. She decides not to tie the bow and therefore give it a casual morning look. She brushes through her hair and applies a soft blush and some eyeliner. Deciding that putting on her heels would give her an advantage to the surprisingly well- dressed woman preparing coffee for them she dons on the Manolo heels and squares her shoulders.  
Andrea picks a pair of jeans that had been discarded the night before and pulls an oversized Calvin Klein sweater from a drawer near the bed. It’s salmon colored, not pink, not red. She leaves her hair in a bun and opts to simply apply some moisturizer, socks and casual moccasins.  
Amidst the turmoil of the morning this dressed down Andrea reminds her of the one she met years ago. 

A sleeker, elegant Miranda emerges from the room and sizes up the older woman who has apparently finished with the coffee. She had not imagined Andrea’s mother to be like this. She didn’t seem to possess much of any Midwest charm, she thought to herself. The fact was that Nancy was not from the Midwest at all, she was pure deep South. She had been born and raised in Georgia home of sweet tea, perfect families and strong women. Miranda remembered that as she sat opposite her. She could see the traces of her upbringing no matter how many years she had spent in the Midwest. The elegant showy dress of the South, the squared jaw, the whiskey in a cup of tea demeanor. Perhaps Andrea took after her father, she’d have to meet him. 

“I hope we can start over politely,” Miranda said softly throwing a bit of that hypocrisy back to her,” It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mrs. Graham.”  
She extends a place hand toward Andrea’s mother as the brunette joins both of them on the kitchen. Nancy takes the hand and having had a few moments to calm down replies, “I wouldn’t say the circumstances are the best but it is always a pleasure to meet Miranda Priestly.”  
Miranda takes it as a reference to her career and not that she’s the girlfriend to her daughter.

“Thank you,” she says and pours from the coffee pot that sits and has replaced the cups of espresso. Andrea extracts the sugar from the cupboard and sits next to her mother leaving Miranda alone on the other side of the table. 

“I guess now would be a good time to explain, Andrea?” Nancy turns to her daughter and waits.

“I … well there is nothing to explain. Miranda and I, we’re …” she stumbles under her mother’s gaze.

“Dating,” Miranda interjects. 

Her mother seems annoyed, “Thank you, I want to hear it from my daughter.”

Miranda knows the matriarch is right, if this were her daughter she’d want to hear it too. Yet, she feels that this is more than a concealed relationship, what had she meant with ‘you promised this would not happen.’  
The coffee is very hot, just like she likes it. Miranda bites the urge to school the woman.

“We’re dating mom, I love her.”

“Last time we spoke and you confessed your childish crush on this woman, you said I should not worry. You said…’

“I know what I said, I was wrong,” Andrea almost shouts.

Miranda is at a loss. What would Nancy worry about? That she’d hurt her daughter or that she was a woman.

“I understand why you’d worry but I would never hurt Andrea,” Miranda decides to test out her question.

“I … Look I know that you are used to getting everything you want, and that you have a lot of power and money but aside from the reasons you think I’m worrying about, the age difference, the fact that you were her boss, I am worried that Andrea does not understand how this will make us all look. She’s committing a sin,” her mother argues. 

“You and her together it’s not logical. I had thought that maybe all that nonsense you said about Miranda being the cause of your divorce, “she turns to her daughter now. “I had thought it was just a fantasy and while it bothered me, you had never acted on it. You said you’d never do it. I thought maybe it was a misplaced infatuation. But now? I come in and find you well…. Half naked with her? How in the world did everything change Andrea? “

The speech makes Miranda uncomfortable, not only because she feels signaled out and dirty but because this is a glimpse of how others in her life may react. She worries, what if her daughters dislike it too? How could she loose Andrea again? 

“Mom, stop! I love Miranda. Whatever you thought I said, it was just something you imagined. I have always loved her, and I will always love her whether she decides to stay with me or not after all this. I want to live with her, I know it will be hard and that people like you will judge. I know you may not talk to me again and that will break my heart, but I can’t be someone I’m not anymore. “

Miranda gulps the coffee down, it burns her tongue, she looks at Andrea and smiles. That was exactly what she wanted to hear, to sort out.

“So, you just plan to move in her? Live like two heathens?” 

Andrea shrugs, “Mom, all my life I’ve done what I was supposed to. The school, the career, the boyfriend, the wedding, the religion, I have done what you wanted me to. I have been so miserable,” tears scape her eyes and the anger of a few second ago is erased by complete and utter vulnerability. 

“I want to just be with her,” Andrea looks across the table, “I’ll marry her if she lets me, but we don’t have to. I just know I have to be with her to survive, does that make sense? Did you love dad like that?” 

The older Sachs for once recoils, she looks down at her own cup of coffee. Strange how we turn to inanimate objects in times where courage leaves. She has finished most of her coffee too.  
She pushes the chair aside, and gets up shaking her head, “you’re such a disappointment, Andrea.”

The words are stern and solemn, they are not questioning. This is not a question and that’s all. The moment leaves no room for anyone to speak.

“I don’t think you’re being fair in describing your daughter a disappointment because of who she loves,” Miranda voices.

Nancy turns, her eyes are red but she’s holding back tears. 

“What would you call someone who decides to throw her life into sin after being raised in the church all her life? Hmm? Maybe you don’t know because you’ve never raised someone as lovingly and as closely as I have with Andrea.”

Miranda can’t believe she is getting told how to parent. “I have two girls….” she starts.

“Where are they now? Do they know their mother is fucking her ex-assistant? How old are they Miranda? 20? 18? Do they know?”

“With all due respect you didn’t know about how miserable your daughter was for years, the alcoholism? That is not caring deeply. You were content that she had married well and a man. And that it fit your southern view.”

“Perhaps,” Nancy agrees, “but that doesn’t mean this is not disappointing. You have lost everything you had Andrea, privilege and prestige. A good, a great job for a writing gig? A correct marriage for whatever this is. I don’t even know you…”

“This is who I am. “

“I guess I don’t belong here then,” her mother says and walks out toward the door.

“You just got here,” Andrea says.

“I will call a cab, I am capable of getting a hotel and a flight without your help Andrea thank you,” her mother bites as the door closes.

Andrea makes a run for it, Miranda grabs her by the writs. 

“Let her go. Let her calm down. Nothing can be solved right now.”

That was when they found themselves back at the kitchen island brewing a second pot of coffee and finally getting some food.

“Are you mad?” Andrea asks.

Miranda shakes her head, “Part of me is upset at your mother but part of me is content. All I wanted us to talk about was this, how hard it’s going to be. Two women watched closely by the media, with age differences, power differences, career differences, people will talk and it will hurt, Andrea. It will hurt like hell. Like today, like right now, but publicly. I wanted to know you’d be okay with that. The reason why I stayed away was because I didn’t think you could love me back, and that we could try this.”

“All those years, Miranda,” Andrea smiles sadly.

“Have made this moment special, Andrea I want you… I want you for keeps, forever. Can you give me that?”

Andrea nods, “that is all I want to give you.”

“We’ll have to tell the twins, I’d like to do it alone. I’m going to drive over to Boston tomorrow to tell them. I was hoping you’d come with me to go to dinner after?”

Andrea nods, “Of course. I’ll have to call my mother sooner or later.”

Miranda reaches out for the younger woman’s hand. It’s soft and slightly cold. She holds on to it, like she was holding on to dear life. There was still so much to face. This was the tip of the ice berg. Andrea pulls her hand away Miranda follows her younger lover as she comes and sits next to her pulling the stool as humanly possible. Miranda puts an arm around her, as Andrea settle on her shoulder and cuddles. 

“I want to call my dad, go see him. He’ll understand, he’ll understand us.”

“I will go with you,” Miranda says as her eyes dart across the table and she sees Nancy’s cup. She understands the southern woman, her deep- rooted beliefs, her love for her child. She understands the need to protect Andrea against what she thought was wrong. She understood that it was hard to erase years of beliefs because your child asked you to do it. It was illogical, unheard of. Parents taught morals not the other way around. She understood but how could she walk away from her daughter?

“Well go and everything will be fine,” Miranda promises.


	16. Chapter 16

“Hi mom!” Caroline and Cassidy bounce up to the restaurant booth, lean in to kiss the famous editor they call mother and sit down across from her.

“Cassidy, Caroline you’re on time!” she remarks and they laugh it off. 

“Yeah, well we wanted to know what you were going to tell us,” Caroline remarks paging through the thin leaflet of a menu in the trendy Boston restaurant their mother always picked when she came to see them.

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you something?” Miranda asks.

Both young women turn to look at each other, Miranda sometimes felt like a third wheel with her own daughters, the twin connection is completely true. They are communicating but Miranda has no idea what about. The two young women are as different as they are the same.  
Caroline a pre-law student at Harvard has long wild locks flowing past her shoulders, they make no attempt to be combed and they pair perfectly with mild makeup and deep eyeliner. She’s wearing strappy six- inch heel sandals and black leather pants topped with a sheer black blouse and various necklaces. In contrast, her sister who goes to Boston University and had no idea what she was majoring in was dressed impeccably, just like her mother. She had a Peter Pan collared blouse with perfectly pleated black slacks and a silver belt. She had three inch Prada pumps and a classic Chanel purse paired with short straight hair and elegant green eyeshadow that popped her eyes. She was the image of elegance.

“Because whenever you ask for lunch in the middle of the week and drive down from New York you want to tell us something,” Caroline answers. 

“Good afternoon, may I offer you something to drink?” the server comes up and Cassidy expertly orders, “three black coffee’s, extra hot, creamer on the side and a fruit bowl.”

Miranda nods and Caroline slightly smiles. 

“How’s school?” she asks her daughters who she talks to once a week.

“Well pre-law is crazy but bearable, I joined a women’s law club on campus. They work closely with senators and lobby groups. I think it will be good,” Caroline smiles. 

“Good, I can send over some event clothes?” Miranda asks.

“Mom! I’m fine,” 

“Okay,” Miranda scoffs.

“And you Bobbsey?” she says turning to the younger twin.

Cassidy shrugs, “It’s cool, I guess. I have to see what classes I need for different majors. I’m just getting all the basics out of the way,” she confesses. 

“Good,” her mother smiles. 

The coffees arrive, they take a soul cleansing sip and Caroline probes, “So?”

“Well, if you insist,” she has absolutely no idea how her daughters will take the news. 

“I am … there is someone I’m seeing,” she starts.

“Wow mom, that’s great!” Cassidy smiles. 

“Yeah mom, it’s been so long since … Stephan,” Caroline chimes. 

“Soooo, you are dating this person?” they ask.

Miranda gives them an ambiguous nod, and takes a bite out of the watermelon sitting in front of her. It buys her time. Hadn’t she rehearsed this speech on the way here? Where did the words go?

“Well, I want to bring them into the family,” she stammers. It sounds so childish. 

Two pairs of eyes narrow and they take deep breaths, “I don’t understand. It sounds very serious,” Caroline probes again. Not that it had not been serious the time Miranda told them about Stephan, but they had gotten to meet him a few times before their mother ever mentioned the word dating, much less family. Stephan had turned out a douche bag, not that he had been an awful husband, he was just not good enough for their mother, not supportive enough. She had to hand it to him thought, the three years that the marriage lasted he was always attentive to them and he was a much better person than their mother’s second husband James. James was drummer to a band. As far as she could remember he was always touring, and thought they had been pretty young she could not remember him ever being involved in their upbringing. In the end, he had ended up cheating on Miranda with the band’s lead singer, that had been a bad marriage. She can’t even say that she ever thought Miranda loved either of them.   
Cassidy knows exactly what her twin is thinking, they grew up knowing that the only man her mother had probably loved was their father Daniel who she had been married to for eight years, six before their birth and two after. They still talked now, though the way dad filed for divorce had definitely not been his best move. This seemed different, their mother was gravely hesitant, and the fact that they had not even met this man preoccupied them.

“Well, I want them to move in,” she says.

“to the house? The townhouse? Like you’re going to marry them?” Cassidy sounds slightly alarmed.

“Well, perhaps in the near future but not yet,” Miranda stammers again.

“Who is he mom?” Caroline asks sipping the rest of the coffee.

“You girls already know her,” she breathes out quickly and even though she tries not to, her last word breaks and she gulps.

There is a screeching silence for a second, it’s like a flock of birds rounding the table without a single word. Both her red head daughters blink at her, there is definitely shock in both their light-colored eyes. They are wide and round and she’s not sure what the words out of their mouths will be. She can’t blame them for this shock, she’s not only telling them she’s seeing someone after ten years, she’s telling them that this person is moving in and that this person is a woman, inevitably making her a … lesbian.   
Though she hated labels, she wasn’t naïve, she knew the world would label them. That it would be in big bold letter on page six and that inevitably her daughters would bear some weight. 

“We know … her?” Caroline calmly asks, emphasizing the last word.

“Andrea, my former assistant,” Miranda says again.

“Andy? Andy from Paris?” Cassidy asks. 

It seems to be all questions and no answers. 

Miranda nods, “yep, that one.” The great Runway editor, who drafts and publishes articles on fashion, art, politics, editorials the world over. The woman who creates elegantly worded Editor Letters for every issue, is out of words.

“Are you having a midlife crisis?” Cassidy probes, “is that it? Or I’m I misunderstand all of this. We are talking about romantically seeing someone, right? “

Again, Miranda nods.

“So when did this happen?” Caroline, the facts oriented one, asks.

“Well,” she finally sighs and gains composure straightening her back and raisin her chin.

“This happened a long time ago, since Paris. I fell in love with her a long time ago, but I didn’t want to go through … this,” she makes a gesture at the table and nothing in particular but they both understand what she means. She didn’t want the Spanish inquisition and the media and the trouble.

“Anyway, long story short, she reappeared five months ago,” Miranda explains.

“Five months?” Cassidy exclaims.

Miranda raises her hand and the young woman quiets, “nothing happened, until about two weeks ago. We decided that we wanted to try this, that we had to. I know it’s a lot to ask of you. I know I have just thrust something incredibly big not only a new person for you two to accept into your life, but a whole new … side of me to deal with.”

“A new side of you?” Cassidy whispers loudly, “no a new side of you would be that you suddenly took up golfing or that you discovered that you liked ballroom dancing or something like that. This…this isn’t a new fucking side of you!”

“Cassidy!” Miranda exclaims at her language.

“No, you don’t get to tell me how to speak! Not when I just found out my mother is a lesbian, a closet lesbian for god knows how fucking long” she’s leaning in whispering loudly. Anger is completely visible in her eyes, “Andrea can be your goddam daughter? You’re 55, do you know that mom? She’s what 10 years older than us? A little more than that? I don’t know what you want from us,” she gets up from the table.

“Cass!” her sister calls but the well-dressed woman was already heading for the door.

Miranda turns to her other daughter, blue eyes misted with tears. She knew this could happen. She was prepared for it, but she didn’t know just how hard it would be.

“I have to talk to her,” she says making a move to get up.

Caroline shakes her head, she’s somber and steeled. Ironically in the crazy red curls and the attire she would never wear she sees so much of herself. Caroline has always been the strong one, the logical one, the commanding one. She’s going to be a great lawyer. 

“Leave her, she needs to think and calm down. Nothing can come of it now,” Caroline says and she hears the exact words she told Andrea about her mother. She nods.  
They sit a few minutes in silence again, sipping coffee and picking at the grapes and strawberries on the crystal bowl. This silence is different, it’s anointing, forgiving, like balm for a cut. 

“Now Andy, how is she?” Caroline smiles at the silver haired editor who has calmed down.

“Good, she’s been through a lot, she’s divorced, and an TV producer turned writer,” Miranda comments. It feels strange saying all of this.

“wow, I’d love to see her again. I liked her, how about we do dinner this Friday?” she asks. 

“Are you sure?’ Miranda blinks.

Caroline nods, of course she’s in shock but she’s also a woman of contemporary views. Miranda has been alone for so long, even with Stephan and James she was alone. She had always been too much for all of them and if Andrea made her happy that was all she could ask. 

“I just want you to be happy, mom,” she confesses, “besides it makes perfect sense why you never dated after Paris.”

“I guess,” Miranda nods.

“Cassidy will come around, “Caroline says reaching out for her mother’s hands.

“And if she doesn’t?”

“She will, I’ll talk to her, I have no classes the day after tomorrow. I’ll drive over to BU and buy her lunch of something.”

“And if she still hates me?” Miranda asks.

“She doesn’t hate you. Besides we all know I’m your favorite twin,” Caroline jokes and she gets the desired effect a light chuckle from her mother.

“It will be fine mom, I promise. You don’t owe us your life, and I think Andrea will be good for you. Now… why don’t we get some real lunch now,” she says flagging down the waiter, “club sandwiches all the way okay? Carbs are okay today” she lectures her mother and Miranda only laughs.

“Caroline,” she says before the waiter arrives, the red head turns, “thank you.”

Caroline shakes her head and makes a gesture like it was nothing.

**********************************

Andrea had to stay in New York for something to do with the book tour and so Miranda decides to drive back that same afternoon. By the time she arrives hours later, caught in bad traffic and completely exhausted she opens the door to her house to find that Andrea was waiting for her in the living room.

“Darling you’re home,” is all she says as Miranda nods and walks toward her. She doesn’t have to speak because the older woman walks directly into her embrace and in everything that goes against her character rests her head on the younger woman and breaks down crying. 

Andrea doesn’t have to ask, she already knows. She holds the older woman in a deep embrace for what seems like an eternity. Miranda feels engulfed in sadness; yet cloaked in hope. Yes, Andrea had always been hope, the hope she had lived on.

“What happened?” Andrea asks after Miranda has quieted and sat down opening the book. 

“What anyone would expect when you tell your college age daughters that you’re suddenly moving in with a woman that according to Cassidy, could be my daughter,” Miranda doesn’t tear up anymore but the deflated sadness is evident and bitter.

“She’s going to come around,” Andrea says.

“That is what Caroline said, she was … calm about the situation. I didn’t expect less of her I suppose, she has always been exactly like me. She wants to come down for dinner Friday, to meet you, formally. She was kind,” Miranda explains. 

Andrea smiles, “good, that’s a start … right?”

She looks at Miranda, she wants to see what the woman is thinking. Fear ripples through her that Miranda will not want to do this. That the stones will pile up of people who oppose them, this is just their family what will happen when it hits the press, the fashion designers, the public?

Miranda seems to read her mind, “they don’t matter Andrea, the public is easy to deal with. I don’t know them, I have never cared. The press will be cruel but we already know that, right? It’s their job to sell papers and stories and ratings, you know that better than anyone.”

Andrea nods, feeling bad for all the times she broke a controversial news story on TV without regards for the people in the story. That old Andrea, bitter and sad somewhat rejoiced in it. Life is interesting that way.

“The fashion world is all too forgiving in … this,” Miranda smiles candidly at that “in us. In fact, it may be just as controversial as it will be a novelty. I don’t care about that. I think we both agree that it’s the acceptance of those we love that matters.”

Andrea nods, “right.”

“But,” Miranda turns Andrea’s head toward her, brown orbs search for some sign in blue stormy ones. “I love you not despite all this Andrea, but because of this. I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,” Miranda recites.

“Pablo Neruda,” Andrea smiles softly, knowing, “it’s one of my favorite poems.”

“I know, it is mine too,” she pauses, “you are my soul Andrea. It may have taken my whole life to find you, but I have you now. I’m not going anywhere.”


	17. Chapter 17

There was a breathless anxiety around her, it ate her whole and let her live at the same time. Perhaps this was how it was all supposed to end, perhaps she should not have started this at all. The silence was loud and deafening, it was cruel and kind in a way that broke your heart. She was full of contradictions that she could not voice out-loud.

“Miranda?” 

The fashion editor didn’t look up, didn’t move.

“Miranda?” Nigel asked slightly louder as he entered the glass enclosed office space. At the second sound, she looked up slightly startled.

“Nigel?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I could ask the same of you?” she answered with a question, as she often did.

“I came to pick up a file, but you, it’s almost 5 on a Sunday Miranda,” he observed. It wasn’t a question it was statement. 

“I’m just finishing some budget revisions for Rob” she answered, and she was. 

Nigel nodded, ran his ringed hand over his bald head and said, “Miranda, you have a cup of coffee that you obviously made from the employee lounge, you’re the only one in the whole floor and, “ at this he paused and waited for the diva to look at him, “your computer screen is off.”

She turns to look at the screen, as if she were seeing it for the first time that day. 

“I’m fine Nigel,” she repeats but he pulls up a chair and sits.

“It’s my job to look at the details, you’re my friend, my boss, my colleague, what’s wrong? I’m worried.”

She’s silent. 

“Caroline called, she’s worried about you too,” he finally lets out. 

Miranda looks at him, her eyes narrow. No one knew, how could Caroline? She’s mad for a few brief moments. Uncle Nigel would never betray her. She smiles. That was why she called him.

“She told you?” she asks in vain, she knows what the answer will be. 

He looks at the photographs that flood the walls behind her, dignitaries, creatives, celebrities graze the frames. A life’s work behind the well poised editor. The photographs most in black and white show her status, her friends and her style. Her life in the content of this office is perfect, underneath the photographs are pieces of furniture worth someone’s whole house, accents embellished in fine porcelain and expensive glass. The company’s logo splashes in subtle corners here and there, a life dedicated to fashion spans between the glass doors and the window overlooking the city. 

He nods, “she wanted advice.”

“And you gave it to her?” Miranda asks. 

He shakes his head, “I don’t have answers for everything, contrary to what you believe.”

She smiles, “I don’t know what to do Nigel. It’s so new …”

He gets up and pours them both a drink, fine whiskey in fine glasses. 

“I heard about Cassidy, I think she’ll come around Miranda. She has always been the overprotective one, the one who cared about what people said and did, she’s fragile …” he finishes.

“I know,” Miranda agrees.

“Caroline is just like you, she’s tough, and determined and fiercely loyal. Caroline would humor you on everything.”

Miranda smiles, she knows that too. 

“It’s going to take time,” he repeats.

“I told Andrea that I didn’t care about the press, the public,” she pauses.

“But you do?” he asks. 

She shakes her head, “no, but I think it will be hard on us both. And the twins and her family. I just wish I could protect her from everything. … I love her so differently from everything else. I don’t even know how to explain it. I feel so foolish, I’m old and … maybe this is what old men feel with their 19- year old lovers,” she says. 

“I know exactly what you mean, Miranda. It’s called finding the one. It’s meeting your soulmate in a world that places all the emphasis on looks and money. This is true love Miranda, and it’s never easy.”

She nods. 

“You’re not an old riche man with a teen lover, Andrea loves you. I know she does. She’s a beautiful, mature woman who will make you happy, if you let her. She doesn’t need your money, in fact I think it might hinder her. But she needs you.”

“How are you so wise?” she asks him.

“It’s the being alone and working all the time midnight ponderings,” she admits.

“So, what do I tell her?” Miranda asks.

Nigel gets up and picks both their empty tumblers, handing her the Givenchy coat that lay discarded on the sofa, “go home Miranda. Tell her how much you missed her today. Then call Caroline and tell her the same thing, and Cassidy and with time I promise you, everything will be okay.

She finds herself a few blocks from home, in the back seat of her Range Rover wondering if the chat with Nigel had been real, if she had dreamt it as a product of her imagination. Still, she does as he instructed, she calls her daughters and tells both their voice mails how much she loves them, and misses them and that no matter what she will always be their mother. The she calls Andrea and does the same, except that Andrea answers and Miranda can’t resist to ask her over. 

Andrea has been thinking too, she’s been looking at her own photographs, stacked in boxes in her house. Celebrities, news anchors, world events the backdrop of a life never imagined. It hadn’t really been her fault, she can see it now. Matthew didn’t rescue her from the pit she had fallen into, he let her drown, in alcohol and pity. It had been both of them, both were to blame. She didn’t want the same for Miranda and her.

“Come see my father,” she asks. 

Miranda hesitates. 

“He’s different, the news will eventually break… if we continue this. And I want him to know before. Did you plan on telling PR?” she asks.

Miranda nods, “I talked to Nigel today, I think I talked to Nigel today.”

Andrea seems confused, “you think?”

“Caroline called him, he said it’s going to be okay.”

“Darling, I know it’s been a long week,” Andrea says and it all seems so sterile, like they were pending, waiting, on pause. Like the whirlwind weeks of before, of secrets and telling and confessions had calmed now. The rains had stopped pounding over the old New York rooftops and now they were just hoping for another event to unbend them. A catalyst of sorts.

Miranda takes a deep breath, she’s’ been dwelling on this too much. It’s not her style. 

“Let’s go then in a few days, I have a charity with Elle tomorrow, and then a taping for Chanel but we can go Wednesday, let’s do all this as fast as we can?” she says and there is a playful smile to her.

Andrea is hope, Nigel is right. Cassidy will come around she has too, and if not. She’s think about that when she’s there.

“Are you going to call your mother?” Miranda asks.

Andrea shakes her head, “she has called every day. I don’t want to talk to her.”

“You’re going to have to, someday.”

“Someday, perhaps. Not right now. I need you, and Nigel and people in my corner,” she comments and crosses the few feet to sit at the editor’s lap. She rests her head on the older woman’s thighs and sighs softly as a thin pale hand caresses her hair. 

“I’ve fought too much and too hard to find myself and be here,” she stops and looks up at blue eyes, “all I need is you.”

“And you have me,” Miranda whispers letting the brunette kiss her briefly.

 

Her father lives in a small house outside of Cincinnati, it’s a calm town with pastoral views and hot summers. Miranda is silent most of the drive from the airport.

Her father sees the car approach the curb and park silently in front. It stays there a few minutes, lulls the engine and shuts off. He knows it’s them, there aren’t many black Mercedes sedans parking outside his house. There aren’t many uniformed chauffer’s getting up to open doors, or no one wears seven-inch leather pumps in that town. It was darkening outside, the Ohio sun was falling as fast as his calm and he sat waiting for one of them to ring the bell. He hadn’t met Miranda but he could tell who she was as soon as they stepped away from the car, the slick figure, the elegant sway, she could see why Andrea looked her way. He still not comprehend what made his daughter leave her marriage but he could not deny Miranda Priestly was beautiful.


	18. Chapter 18

There was a passive kindness in Richard, he was humble and caring. He was the perfect embodiment of the good guy in a movie. There was also guilt from the pulling back, the not acting to save Andrea before her divorce. He felt guilt drip like a leaky shower head over him, for having ignored the slur across her words when they spoke and she said, she was fine. He could have gone to visit, talked to her, made her feel that there was another way out. Instead he had left her, thinking that money and success would take care of it all. Guilt stretched across them like uninhabited white beaches; however, Andrea did not blame him. She loved him, more than anything. Growing up Richard was her favorite parent, thought her mother’s larger than life personality took up most of her time. Miranda could see read Richard like a book, the good heart and the pressing repentance. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” Richard offered.

Miranda shook her head, “tea will be fine.”

And tea was fine, they sat and talked as if they were three old friends catching up after college. Richard talked about the last time he was in New York and the first time he was in New York too. They talked about kids and divorces and the rainy weather. 

“I know this, what Andrea and I have may not be … what you would have..” Miranda started when Andrea got up to the bathroom.

Richard set his tea cup down, and gently cleared his throat, “Andy is first and foremost my daughter and …” he paused and inhaled.

“I want nothing more than her happiness, you’re right. This was unexpected … at best,” he musters a smile for the fashion diva, “nevertheless I will always support her. I can see how much you care for her, I can see it in your eyes. In the way, you look at her and how you’re willing to be here after what happened with, her mother.”

Miranda nods 

“I’ve been a passive observer of her life for way too long, when she needed me. I am happy you are here, to love her,” he finishes.

Miranda can’t help but almost cry, she smiles, the kind of smile that is used to hold back tears. She licks her lips and nods at nothing in particular. 

“thank you,” she manages and Andrea shows up as if on cue.

“Will you be staying for dinner?” he asks looking at his watch, “I bought some mean ribs.”

Andrea looks over at her lover, “Dad makes some great food!”  
Miranda nods, “of course, we just need to put our suitcases at the hotel and change.”

“Nonsense,” Richard states, “you have to stay here. I’ve got extra rooms, besides we have limited time to connect. Do you go back to the city tomorrow?”

“Monday morning,” Miranda, corrects and adds, “we’d love to stay here.”

~~~~ 

Richard shows the couple the guest room, and the shower right next to it. 

“Feel free to freshen up, the ribs take a moment,” he smiles and walks away.

“Miranda, this isn’t’ the Ritz,” Andrea states, “are you sure you want to stay here?”

“Andrea,” she pauses and looks at her almost as a mother would look at a capricious child, “your father’s home is perfectly comfortable and elegant and one never refuses a Midwesterners offer of hospitality, especially when that man is your future father in law.

Andrea lets out a small laugh, “I’m going to take this as a good sigh, god knows we need one.”

“I think those ribs will be a good sign too,” Miranda smiles trying for the second time that day to keep the tears at bay. This day was easy and Andrea was right, they needed easy.

At the end of the meal Andrea thanks her father, “thank dad.”

“For what, munchkin?” he looks up from putting the dishes away, Miranda had gone off to bed and Andrea stayed to help.

“For today, for being polite to her, for accepting this, us. I know that she’s not what you would have wanted, she’s not Matthew, or a guy or …”  
“Honey, I’m not going to be the one to make it harder. As I told her, I can see how much you love her, and how much she loves you. That’s enough for me. I wish your mother had loved me that like,” he says and she shakes her head.

“Mom is mom,” they both nod

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you earlier,” he hugs his daughter, the one with the big brown eyes just like his, and his dark chestnut hair, and his peach complexion. 

“I want her forever dad,” she whispers.

“I know,” he says as they turn off the lights and head up the stairs.  
Miranda can hear he as she enters the room, but she pretends to be asleep. She’s tired, bone tired. She spoke to Caroline again, Cassidy is now refusing to speak to her too.

“Mom, let’s give her some time. Maybe the press and popular opinion will sway her?” 

“The press?” Miranda asks.

“Leslie called, she said you had no reception? Anyway, she wants you to call her asap, there is a picture leaked of Andrea and you at the airport? “

“And that’s important?” Miranda feels confused, she’s at the airport all the time.

“You’re apparently holding her hand? Or something I don’t know. She said she forwarded to you. She want’s approval to confirm, deny? I thought you had talked to her?”

There is silence from the other end.

“Mom?”

“I was going to, oh god.”

“Relax, the public is going to love it, it’s a think now. You’ll be right on trend,” Caroline let’s out as if she were talking about the spring hat collection.

“Do you realize how you sound?”

“Yes, I’m just being factual, like you taught me,” the young woman says annoyed on the phone. Miranda knows it is true. Hard to be mad when you see the qualities of yourself on your children.

“Fine,” she stammers, “I’ll call Leslie first thing tomorrow.”

“Mom?” 

“What?”

“I love you, you two are amazing and it’s going to be fine.”

Miranda hangs up, she will have to tell Andrea tomorrow. This will once again shift the new and delicate balance of positive and negative that they have. She breathes in, “I know you’re awake.”

She turns to Andrea slowly, “There is a picture, in the press.”

Andrea shrugs, “does it worry you?”

“Slightly,” she confesses.

Suddenly Andrea turns to her nightstand and pulls out a ring. It’s an ornate antique, with a diamond crest and an intricate Celtic design.

“promise me that one day you will marry me? Doesn’t matter if it’s tomorrow or years from now, or on my deathbed. If we stray apart for a moment or if we have 15 kids, promise me we will not part this earth without being married.” 

She grabs Miranda’s hands and force closes her hand around it. 

“Miranda?” she whispers again after beats of silence have gone between them.

“You haven’t promised?”

“How do you know? I’m the one?” she asks. She’s full of questions. What if this is wrong. She’s not sure she has the strength to start over, to start new, to change, to face this. 

“I’ve been loving you for 10 goddam years, that’s how. Even thought, what we have is new and fragile, how I love you is not. We haven’t just met, we’ve always known each other. I know, Miranda I know.”

Miranda nods, she knows too but she’s go afraid. 

“I never say this, I’m scared.”

“I know” Andrea states, “I know you are.”

She leans in and kisses the older woman on the forehead, “now promise me!”

“I promise,” she whispers and puts the ring on. It’s slightly loose but it fits, she’ll have to size it in New York. She’s about to ask whose ring it is but she’s met with a warm hand over her now ringed one and an answer, “it was my grandmothers’, her mother gave it to her it was an heirloom from Ireland. My grandmother didn’t give it to my mom, because my dad bought her another one. I want you to have it, Miranda.”

There are no words after that is said. They close their eyes and hope that the rampart thoughts running around will let them sleep. Tomorrow will be another day, tomorrow they will have the courage to face the day.


	19. Chapter 19

She shuts off her phone for the rest of the day. She doesn’t want nor does she need incessant calls from Leslie or any notifications about the press. What’s done is done, and at least today she can hide from it all. Here in Ohio she can feel at peace even if it’s short lived.

If Andrea’s father read anything on the news, he hid it well. Instead he takes both ladies out to his favorite Italian restaurant, in little Italy. The three, walk down the picturesque town and buy ice cream from a not well- lit corner store. The owner knows Richard and they get sweet bread to take home. Miranda feels so real and simple that she suddenly understands Andrea’s kindness. 

At the small dark-wood restaurant they eat Gnocchi in red Vodka sauce and drink house wine like they could not afford anything else. Andrea meets her lover’s eyes worried that this may be too plebeian for the high society lady but Miranda only smiles and there is a spark in her eyes.  
Andrea knows too that this moment will be short lived, that this reprieve or reality kindly provided by her father will end soon and they will have to face whatever media circus awaits in New York, they will have to go back to Cassidy and her own mother and the whole world that opposes them.

“Andrea?” she hears her father’s voice resonate by her side

She turns confused, “yes?”

“Are you done darling?” he asks.

She nods and for the first time she is aware that a waitress is by her side.

“Do you want to share a dessert with me?” the silver haired lady asks looking benevolently at the dessert menu in her hands. 

Andrea is again surprised, she nods.

“Always,” she says softly.

Richard shares it with them too, it’s a Kodak moment as they say. A memory to capture in each of their minds, for the same and different reasons at the same time.  
Andrea knows that Miranda is for once only living the moment, that they may or may not get another chance to be so free and feel so accepted. She is glad her father is here with them, with her, and she could never thank him enough. Miranda too knows that this is a special moment for Andrea, to have those that brought you into the world and swore to always love you, show you support is priceless. She can never thank Richard enough for letting her into his world, and she can never thank Andrea enough for trusting her with this. And Richard in her own right is glad to see his only daughter happy and in love.

“I can never thank you enough Richard,” she repeats out loud as they part ways after dinner. They must take a late flight back to New York. 

“Nonsense,” he says softly.

“Let me finish,” she says as Andre went to get the suitcase, “for letting me into your house, for accepting my relationship with your daughter and making an effort to make us feel part of your family. It means the world to Andrea and in turn to me.”

Her blue eyes sparkly with sincerity and the older version of Andrea smiles, “there is nothing to be thankful for Miranda, but in any case, you’re welcome.”   
There is a beat of silence and then he speaks again, “I may not understand all my daughter’s reasons to love you, but I love her and I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time. You’re her happy and I admire your love for her. So in a sense I must thank you too. Thank you for saving her when I failed.”  
Miranda looks down and smiles too, “I hope we will see much more of you, I know it would meant the world to Andrea. My house is always open for you, I’d love for you to meet my daughters and our home.”  
She’s not sure using the term ‘our home’ is appropriate yet but then she sees him glance down at the ring Andrea has gifted her and she’s sure it is.   
“Make her happy Miranda,” he says.  
She nods.  
“I would love to meet your family,” he says, “I’ll start planning a trip.”

New York is not as kind or as forgiving and they spend the next few days in a frenzy of trying to avoid the reporters and exiting through the carport with Roy to get Miranda safe to the office.  
By Thursday Miranda is sure that this will never end. She walks into Andrea’s apartment after work in an attempt to avoid the paparazzi outside her house. Andrea is not home yet and instead she finds Melissa in the kitchen with pots of dirt and tomato vines.

“What are you doing?” she asks the young girl taking off her heels. Even though she’s been wearing heels for days, the soft crack of her inner heel and the shots of pleasure that it sends down her spine to put her feet on the ground never gets old. 

“Andrea wanted to me to plant tomato vines in the terrace garden,” she explains.  
Miranda isn’t sure why Andrea would want that since she is supposed to be moving in with her once the media circus dies down but she’s too tired to care. She had a conference with Leslie, Irv’s son the new head of the company and Toya her lawyer about the way to handle the press.  
She’s tired and she just want this to be easy.

“do you want something to eat?” Melissa offers.  
Miranda shakes her head, “I’m going to take a shower.” She’s across the living room and into the bedroom before the maid could respond. She walks in like a zombie, and though she never lets the shower take her makeup off, she lets it this time. She uses the soap to wash of her mascara, and her expensive liner and her red nude lipstick. She’s so concentrated on nothing, on the empty abyss before her, on the sound the water makes and the shower steam that she doesn’t hear Andrea enter, she only notices she’s in the shower by the time a soft hand wraps around her waist pressing her to the tile wall. It’s gently and yet possessive, the way the half-naked brunette presses the older woman onto the wet, slick tiles and as Miranda gasps from the surprise she insets two thin fingers onto her, pressing just the right skin to make the older woman moan. There are no words necessary, Miranda’s hips sway naturally to the rhythm Andrea imposes and as her free hand grabs the editor’s breasts greedily. Miranda can tell without looking back that Andrea is still wearing jeans, but her breasts, naked and hard press deliciously against her back. Miranda feels the heat curse through her body, liquid lust, frenzied rubbing. Andrea pressed her against the wall harder, her knees buckled slightly and Andrea’s name came bubbling to her lips.   
“Andreaaaa,” she called as oblivion came behind her eyelids.  
After a few beats and loss of time, Andrea turned the older woman slightly.  
“Why so serious?” she asked.  
“I was thinking,” Miranda whispers, running her hands over the top of Andrea’s body that lay naked and wet.  
“What about?” the brunette insists.  
“definitely not about you coming in here naked,” the editor chuckles and Andrea tries to kiss her.  
“but you think about me, right?” Andrea asks.  
“Always,” Miranda says again.  
“Then?”  
“I just wish this was easier,” Miranda says pushing Andrea away slightly. The two women are no longer flush to each other but a few inches apart.  
The mood shifts instantly as if a bucket of water had been thrown over the both of them.  
“I know, I do too, but we swore we’d face it together, didn’t we?” Andrea asks.  
Miranda nods, there is a doorbell ringing at the door.  
“Who is it?” Andrea asks.  
“Are you expecting someone?” Miranda echoes.  
“It’s probably Mel,” Andrea reasons.  
Miranda shakes her head, “Mel is putting up tomato vines.”  
“Oh yeah,” Andrea remembers.   
“I was thinking that you should sell this apartment…” there is a pause, “Cassidy is transferring to NYU and it would be a nice place,”  
“You spoke to her?” Andrea interrupts.  
They have moved out of the shower into the marble floor.  
“Yes,” her blue eyes look at the mirror, “well sort of, she told Caroline. She asked if I could get her a place to live.”  
“And you’re going to? After the way she’s been treating you?”  
“Yes,” Miranda nods.  
“She’s been so mean to you, to us?”  
“She’s my daughter, you would not understand,” Miranda says and as soon as the words drop form her lips she knowns they damage they will cause.  
Andrea looks defeated, “you’re right, I would not understand because I’m not a mother. I wouldn’t understand because my own mother, decides to leave me and not accept me.”  
“Andrea that’s not what I meant,” Mirada tried to reach for her young lover but Andrea is already walking toward the door, “I have to go take my jeans off.”  
Miranda knows it’s better to let the brunette sulk in peace, so she takes her time getting ready. She wears a soft cashmere sweater, camel colored and soft atop an ivory set of slacks and kitty heels. By the time she exits the bedroom, she hears laughter and is greeted by Andrea being held in an awkward embrace laughing.  
Miranda coughs slightly to make her presence known and Andrea though she doesn’t try to escape from the embrace she’s in, quiets her laughter.  
“Miranda, you’re ready? I’m glad Matthew is staying to dinner.  
That’s who she thought this was.  
Here in the yellow light of the living room, with no make-up and no power suit she feels the years weight on her like armored vests. She feels eons older than this young man embracing her girlfriend and disadvantaged to fight.  
The air reeks of awkwardness but they are old adults trying to pretend.  
“Miranda, I finally get to meet you,” the young man in dark jeans and sports jacket says.  
“I would say the same, but I’m not sure that’s what someone’s new love says to an ex-husband.”  
She remarks the word EX and walks to take Andrea’s hand, who has now moved out of the embrace and stands by the opposite sofa.

“the past is the past, Mathew says trying to convey indifference, “besides Andy and I are now just friends, right?”   
the brunette nods, “Would anyone like drinks?”  
Miranda nods as she speaks, “I’ll tell Melissa to make some, meanwhile I’ll put the food I had made in the oven, we can eat that.”  
“Sounds great,” Andrea says and Miranda doesn’t know where this bout of domesticity had come. Was she trying to show this was her house or was she jealous of Mathew? She had never felt his before, she was so very jealous of him. As she walks down to the kitchen, she hears laughter again.


	20. Chapter 20

She doesn’t want to but she instantly likes Mathew, he’s funny, charming and a genuinely good guy. 

“It hurt at first,” he confesses over the first glass of wine, “heck it still hurts but I am happy for Andy, she deserves happiness … whatever or whoever that entails.” 

Miranda half smiles, “you’re a better person than I could ever be.”

Her confession is followed by Andrea coming back from the kitchen with a tray of cheese.

“I had Mel cut up all the cheese we own,” both Miranda and Mathew laugh politely and it doesn’t take much for Andrea to realize a confession had just taken place. Mathew keeps up the friendly demeanor all through dinner and Miranda can’t help but like him, though she doesn’t’ show it. 

“I just want to make sure she’s okay,” Mathew confesses, again when Andrea is called away by her editor. 

“She’s been through a lot, you know?” he says looking over as icy blue eyes nod at him.

“I know,” the editor nods.

“I didn’t know you’d be here, but I’m glad you were. I have followed the news and I know they are both in your favor and betting against you two,” he stops.

The silver haired icon looks across at him, she plays with the details of her Ralph and Russo slacks,” that’s the way the media goes. One day you’re a god and the next you’re a beggar.”

Mathew nods, “I understand. I know she’s strong, she was always the strongest of us, but she’s also lost so much. Our children, her mother,” there is a pause, he looks at the elegant woman across the room, “you. I don’t know that she could do it all over again. She has no high stakes career to turn to now, if you hurt her…”

“I won’t hurt her,” Miranda clarifies, “I let her walk away all those years ago because I didn’t want to hurt her, and I never looked for her, because I wanted to give her a chance to be happy away from me, from this,” she signals at nothing but they both understand she’s talking about the media, the life, the fashion mess. 

“But now, that I have her … I will never hurt her Mathew, I will do anything just like you, to see her happy.”

“Good,” he smiles, “that is all I want. I care for her deeply Miranda. I care for her not just as my ex-wife but as a fantastic human, as a friend.”

“You’re a good man Mathew,” she says.  
There is a silence, they both want Andrea to return.

“It’s late,” he says looking at his Rolex and getting up, “tell Andy thank you for dinner?”

“Of course,” she says.

“Miranda, thank you for … being,” he stops looking for the words.

“Civilized?” she offers.

He chuckles, “yeah that too, but I would never expect less from the great Miranda Priestly. I want going to say thank you for being there to save Andrea.”

He walks toward the door, and she realized she’s been getting that a lot lately. The men in Andrea’s life thought Miranda had saved her and all she could think was how Andrea had saved her. As soon as Mathew leaves Miranda walks over to the den where Andrea is still talking to her editor. The brunette lifts her head and sees a silhouette of white leaning against the door frame. The calls ends shortly after that, “Miranda, …”

“Mathew left, he said to tell you thank you for dinner,” Miranda explains before the brunette could speak.

“Oh,” is all she gets from Andrea.

“Forgive me?” Miranda asks and they both know that she’s asking about the episode in the bathroom.

Andrea nods, “always.”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Miranda starts and Andy nods.

“I know Miranda, it’s already forgotten,” there is a hurt blandness to her words and Miranda pains for them. She walks to the chaise where Andrea is sitting and leans in to her. 

“I want to cash your promise now,” she stammers. It isn’t like Miranda to stammer, she always knows what to say, she always has everything planned, she is always sure of her words, of the outcome, she can always control the situation, the people, the words said. This time it’s different. She can’t make Andrea’s mother accept them, she can’t make the media go away, she can’t make Cassidy talk to her and she can’t know what Andrea will answer.

A confused Andrea turns to the older woman, “what promise?”

“I want to marry you now, as soon as possible, tomorrow, I want you to go live with me, I want to know you belong to me, with me and that I belong to you.”

The last words are hard for her to say, because she’s never been in favor of any one person belonging to another. She has never wanted to belong to any of her husbands, nor did she want them to belong to her. She was fiercely independent and hated stereotypes or expectations of marriage. She said those words because that is what loving Andrea did to her, that was what it meant to her. She wanted Andrea to belong to her, only to her. She wanted to be the only one that ever touched her, her body, her heart, her mind. She wanted to Andrea to belong so deeply to her, that owning her body was not enough, she wanted Andrea to become a part of her being, her identity, her history. And she wanted exactly the same of her. She wanted Andrea to want her to the point of ownership. She wanted to belong to Andrea until the day they died, to be only hers. She wanted Andrea to protect her, to love her, to guard her. 

Andrea nods softly, something in her eyes and the way they smile tells Miranda that she understands perfectly everything that is going on in the editor’s mind. 

“I have always belonged to you, Miranda. You have always been mine, even when you didn’t know it yet, Always.”

“Marry me?” the editor poses the question again taking Andrea’s hand and giving her one of the Cartier rings that graced the editor’s thin fingers. 

“Yes, always and any day you want. I already told you, my promise was good until the day we die.”

Miranda reaches for the brunette’s head, she puts her hand behind her neck possessively and kisses her anxiously as if they were running out of time. In a sense, they were running out of time, time was always ticking away for her. Tomorrow was her birthday, tomorrow she’d marry Andrea.


	21. Chapter 21

The rain was pounding softly on the windowpane. It was a storm, the bare trees outside the grey sky threw on a somber facade. There was so much pain encased in the unanimated face she wore, but she didn’t know how to begin to express it. There was disappointment and rage, there was failure and sadness all mixed and stewing like different flowers in a tea cup. She sat on her bed, tears streaming down her perfect white skin and she felt the feelings steam, like tea seeping, getting strong for the first sip.   
She hated New York, the bland color scheme it represented, the blacks and the greys and the off whites. She hated the often-dark sky and the grey clouds and the murky snow shoved aside on the corner streets. She had hated it when Andrea told her she wanted to go study there, and she hated it now. She had always though New York was a bad idea, there was so many good universities everywhere else. It was her husband who had convinced her to let Andrea go to the big Apple. She couldn’t believe that today she was sitting here, dress hanging on the door to go to her daughters second wedding. Perhaps the crowning impetus of her sadness was that she hadn’t even received an invitation.   
Love was complicated, it was never as the media and the stories portrayed it. Love was never clear cut and clean, it did not always triumph and it was not always easy to decipher. Love could be ambiguous, trumped, it could hurt, it could be angry and sad and erupting with guarded feelings. Love could confuse. That was how she felt right now, she was confused. She loved Andrea, she loved her daughter deeply. She wanted nothing more than for her to be happy, but she also loved her morals, her religious beliefs, those teachings that had been ingrained in her mind forever. People said that it was unfair, unjust, that she was discriminatory. She was a typical product of her time and the close-minded environment she had grown up in. How could she stop believing those things that she had always known to be certain, heaven and hell and God. It was like asking a fish to unlearn how to swim, and the modern world did not understand that. Her husband had called her last night, after midnight and told her that Andrea was getting married, in an impromptu, unplanned wedding. It was going to be small, less than 10 people, no press, no media, no show. Miranda had called him, flight booked and all. She had told him that if he thought it appropriate he could call her, there was also a flight booked for her. She took it, scrambled her suitcase in the hours of the morning and here she was. In a hotel suite waiting for the car to pick her up.  
She sat at the back of the courthouse, near the exit and out of the way. Andrea glanced up as she arrived and Miranda nodded to signal she had seen. It wasn’t really an approval, was it acceptance? She didn’t think that was it either, she just had to be here for her daughter’s wedding. It was bearing the guilt, that’s what it was.

“Mom,” Andrea whispers after the vows are said, the papers signed. Andrea is wearing a white satin gown, it’s beautiful but nothing extraordinary. Nigel who’s been the witness on Miranda’s part had searched for it at dawn, somewhere in the closet. It was Chanel, last season, private collection. Miranda wore a cashmere white ensemble. Long wide pants and matching jacket. There was no visible shirt except a long tie that came to rest in the center of the two united lapels. She looked perfect, like a modern snow queen would look.  
“I can’t believe I didn’t get an invitation,” Nancy spits out. It’s accusatory at its best, Andrea recoils.  
“I … it was last minute,” she fusses. Miranda eyes her from a few feet away, she’s chatting softly with Melissa and Nigel. Caroline was there two dressed in a shimmery black, Narcisso Rodriguez and Jasmine the friend she had brought in lieu of Cassidy was colorfully dressed in a short number by Pineda Covalin.   
“Nancy don’t,” comes the sharp and unexpected dispute from the dragon lady.  
“Your father got an invitation,” she continues.  
“Which we hoped he would extend to you, we didn’t think you’d approve,” Miranda continues and Andrea backs up into her. She feels safe there, warm and protected, in her perfume and her expensive face cream smell, and the richness of the cashmere and skin.  
“I don’t,” Nancy is quick to say.  
“don’t ruin today for your daughter, “Miranda speaks yet again, this time it’s soft and cautionary. It both pleads and demands, it is hoping she’ll do what’s right and threatening if not.   
Miranda is always like that full of contradictions, soft and sharp and beautiful.   
Miranda looks around, she knew Cassidy wasn’t coming. The young woman hung up on her, the moment she said wedding. She knew Caroline would be thrilled, nonetheless she had hoped Cassidy would change her mind. To be honest she expected it more of her own daughter than Nancy.   
The old southern woman bites her lips, “You’re right Miranda, congratulations are in order I suppose. I don’t know what to think still … but I had to see my daughter’s wedding. Congratulations.”  
Her comment is aimed at Andrea who leans in to hug her mother.   
“Miranda,” she nods at the editor.  
“Won’t you come join us for the reception?” Andrea asks hopeful. Her father loiters behind her to intervene if necessary.  
Nancy hesitates and seems to think for a few moments.   
“I think this has been enough for now,” she takes a deep breath, “I have to fly back out, it was all so last minute I didn’t leave a sitter for the dog.”  
Everyone understands that this has probably been the biggest effort she’s ever made in her life, and though there is visible disappointment in Andrea’s eyes, there is also hope. If her mother came and her mother is being cordial, with time perhaps.  
“Have a drink for me, yeah?” she raises her hand and grabs Andrea’s chin gently.  
Their eyes meet, mother and daughter, “I love you my darling.”  
The younger writer smiles, “thank you mom.”  
Nigel steps out of the shadows as always to save the day, “a picture with the couple before you leave?  
Nancy nods somewhat awkwardly and Nigel snaps a picture of the editor, her wife and her in-law.  
Miranda finds herself staring at Andrea on the ride to the MET, where she had gotten one of their small rooms to use for the reception. It wasn’t grand and no fanfare was involved, but it would be a nice to linger with fine champagne and food. The drive was quiet, Andrea looking out to the window and at Miranda on a fleeting occasion. Miranda was sure there was sheer adoration in her own eyes, this soft, appeasing feeling. It was a need to reach over and stroke her hair, caress her cheek. She could feel something in her chest contract and swell, it left her breathless. That was what love was too, emotions far too great to pinpoint and put a name to. She wasn’t sure how but she knew, she just knew Andrea was the one. She supposed she had always known, since that day an annoying and self-sufficient journalism graduate had walked into the office. She could not believe she made Emily go after her. The memory drew a smile, a smile that Andrea caught.  
“What are you thinking of?” she asks as the car stalls in the New York traffic. Dusk is settling in, the sky is fire red, and burning orange. It’s a cascade of colors, a masterpiece better than any piece the MET holds. It is beauty of hand painted palates.  
“Of you, and the day I met you,” she smiles even harder. Her eyes shine, they shine like diamonds, like stars, they shine like they belong in the sky that is about to turn black.   
“You’re beautiful,” Andrea murmurs.  
Miranda fights a blush but losses, it creeps up her cheeks and stains her porcelain skin.   
“Love is so complicated Andrea,” Miranda comments.  
Andrea listens, to the paused recital of the poem she knows will happen.  
“I can’t explain how I know that you’re the one person I want for the rest of my life, I just know. Something about the way my breath catches when I see you, the breathlessness that results as I realize you’re mine. It contradicts with everything I am, it lacks control and form and logic. I have never felt this before, not like I do with you. Love is also heartbreaking, my darling. In your mother and my own daughter, who can’t accept something completely and yet I can’t blame either.”  
Andrea nods at the somber words but doesn’t feel desolate. She knows that she has Miranda, she has her father, she has however reluctantly her mother and that brings a glimmer of hope.   
“And yet,” Miranda whispers. It’s barely audible, the younger woman reaches for her new wife’s hand.   
“And yet,” she repeats, “beyond that. Love is grandiose, it is hopeful, and destined. I have no doubt that you and I were meant to be, we were a love story before either of us was born, before we were even a thought. We were made one for the other, to fill the missing gaps, to fit together perfectly. Destiny was waiting patiently for us.”

She takes a deep breath and turns her head from the window where she had been seeing the shadows of the night form toward brown orbs that stared at her.

“We are magic,” she breathes.as they pull up to their destination.


	22. Chapter 22

“I’m so happy for you mom,” Caroline said nearing the editor who was waiting for a martini at the bar. Miranda sighs, she turns ever so slightly to see the stormy pools that are her daughter’s eyes and she smiles. The scene that unfolds before them is one to keep forever, the closest friends they have littered across a small room, drinks in hands, laughter ever so easy. Andrea across the room is sitting with Nigel, he’s making her laugh. It’s a full bend over, no breath, hair in your face kind of laugh, Caroline catches her mother’s line of sigh.  
“I think she’s a keeper,” Caroline jokes and Miranda smiles once more, “I think so.”

The barman hands her a martini extra dry, “Caroline thank you for your support, it means the world to me.”  
The eldest twin shrugs, “I just want you to be happy, and I know Andy will make you happy.”

“Still, thank you,” Miranda repeats.

“love is two souls that find their happy place,” Caroline reasons and it’s childish the way she says it. She has meant it that way, it makes her mother chuckle and making Miranda chuckle is always a good thing. 

“Would you say, I’m your maid of honor?” Caroline asks.

“Well, this was not a big wedding,” Miranda clarifies.

“But I did hold the rings,” Caroline insists.

“I suppose so, yes, why not,” Miranda agrees.

A big mischievous smile spread across the red head’s features.

“Why?” she asks.

“Because, “draws out the word, “I’m going to do a speech.”

Miranda raise an eyebrow, “Caroline no, this isn’t that kind of wedding. Just don’t.”

“Every wedding is that kind of wedding,” she smiles and bounds off to the microphone that is being handed to her, she had it planned out.

“HI,” she voices somewhat nervous onto the small contraption. The small crowd turns, 

“I want to thank everyone who’s here with us, on such short notice. The shortest notice for a wedding aside from those that get married, drunk in Vegas.”

The crowd chuckles, Miranda is not amused. 

“I know you all think my mother is a legend. She’s an amazing brand creator, a curator of content and beauty. She can spot trends and make them. She’s a king maker as the say.” 

Miranda rolls her eyes, still standing at the bar.

“But that is not why she’s a legend to me. To me she was the greatest mother one could ask for, she wanted to always make us happy and she tried darn hard. That is why I want the same for her, and I am going to try darn hard to make sure she is. Fortunately, I don’t have to try that hard, because I have Andy, and I am certain Andrea will make my mother happy. I don’t know why, but I feel like my mother and her are a special kind of bond, the one most of us here in this room want to have. That is why this short notice wedding is not like any other. These two amazing human beings finally get a chance to share everything. As maid of honor, which there is no one else I’d rather be maid of honor to than my own mother, I think it was my duty to say just how happy I am for them, and how proud I am of them and how much I’m going to be there with them, sharing every moment of happiness. Well not every moment, that may be traumatizing for me,” the crowd laughs. She’s good at that, comic relief, “on that note Andrea wants to say a few words.”  
At the mention of her name Andrea perks up and hands her orange juice to Nigel, Miranda shakes her head in a signal for Andrea to stop but the brunette defiant as ever smiles and takes the microphone from her new step-daughter.

“Sorry, love I’m going to have to displease you today and give this speech. First of I want to echo Caroline’s words and let everyone here know that I am ever so grateful for your presence. Dad, Caroline, Nigel, Donatella, Lily, and everyone else. If does mean the world to us. The truth is I never thought I’d be here, sharing this evening with you or with Miranda. Life is full of decisions we take every day. Some are mundane and simple like deciding if we drink tea or coffee for breakfast or what brand of toothpaste we use. Some are more important they are complicated and can change our life in an instant or for years. The latter was our story, many of you know I have known Miranda for more than 10 years since the day she shooed me out of her office and then hired me on a whim,” more chuckles from the attendees,” and I re-payed her by throwing my phone into a fountain and leaving her alone in Paris fashion week.”

She stops takes a breath and looks over at Miranda who smiles back.

“During those years we took decisions that took us far apart from each other. We lived for our respective goals and families. However, for me I lived all those years with one pending thought, my love for Miranda. Yes, Miranda I can confess it now. I always loved you, every breathing moment.”

The famous editor blushes, she tries to hide her face in a sip of her martini.

“Those years and those decision made us stronger, different, but somewhere in there we cared one for the other. Today we stand here with another decision, to unite our lives forever. We stand here after having made some very hard decision earlier, decisions to love this, despite losing people, privilege, prestige and all the things we can lose. Miranda, I can’t promise that we will never regret this because the challenges will be great, I can’t promise I will protect you from heartbreak, because that is not within my power. I can’t as much as I want to my darling, that we will always be happy, I can’t promise eternal bliss, that is not real. As a journalist and news editor I am always after the truth and none of those promises would be true. But I can promise that we took the right decision, that we are meant to be together, I can promise that I will try my best to make you happy, to honor all the promises I made today. I promise to dedicate my life to us. And Miranda I promise that I will always love you. There is nothing that will make me stop loving you, not another person, not money, or titles, nothing materialistic. No lure of power can make me stop loving you. I would love you even if you broke your promises, even if you didn’t love me back, I would love you even if you left, I would love you matter what. I will love you because that is all I can do, that is all I have been doing for the past 10 years. Miranda,” she pauses and calls for her to come closer.

The editor shakes her head slightly, there is a few tenacious tears making their way down the unmarred and well-kept face. Andrea smiles and shrugs. 

“I know we have made some tough decisions in a short time, you all know we have. I know we have given up so much. I know it hurts, love hurts. Love is irrational, it’s raw and unpredictable, it makes mistakes. I can promise you this much, I will always love you, you have changed my life. That one decision to work for you, to leave, to come back, to come back again, to knock on the door and make a confession, to kiss you, to everything with you has led to this moment. I love you, I always have and I always will. “

She walks over to the bar, and says in a hushed announcement on the microphone, 

“Happy birthday Miranda Priestly


	23. Chapter 23

She wasn’t alone, she could feel the gaze of someone else upon her neck. She knew who it was, she didn’t need to turn around. She knew that blue liquid eyes were watching her, she knew they would be disappointed and disappointment at this point in the game was not something she could warrant. She knew she should not be where she was, should not be doing what she was doing. She knew that it broke the promises they had made, and she knew above all that she had broken her own promise.

“You can speak now, you know?” Andrea baits the older woman standing still behind her.  
Still the editor does not speak, she is thinking. She doesn’t know what to say. What does she say, what should she say? She is beyond disappointed to come home, to her home, three weeks after their impromptu marriage and find the brunette here. Still she can’t be too harsh, that would not serve a purpose. She breathers, softly and tries to think. She wipes her hands on the edge of her white wool Oscar de la Renta skirt and she knows she probably won’t be able to use it again. The room is painfully dark, and silent and the back of her heel starts to bother her. The weight of the embroidered Valentino cape hurts her suddenly and she wonders how people wear it. She wonders why she was wearing it. It was date night, a night to celebrate before the book tour. The book tour was tomorrow. She suddenly remembers that.

Morgana the character Andrea had based on Miranda was crafted to be the opposite to her. She had long black hair that curled at the bottom of her waist and dark brown eyes that sparkled under the soft lights of her office. She was powerful yet subdued. She only ever wore black and silver, big silver everything it was like a religion to her. Silver hoops, and rings and spikes on her six-inch heels. Morgana the heir to a movie empire is always hard to please, she thins her lips and taps her heel to show her displeasure. She can imagine Miranda doing that now.

“You’ve spilled all over the Givenchy dress,” are the exact words that Miranda speaks to Andrea after the silence and Andrea’s sudden and unexpected laughter fills the room.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asks and she turns to face her wife, she sees exactly what she thought she’d see. Miranda, perfect, stylish, powerful Miranda on heels and luxury. She runs her eyes over the skirt and the blouse and cape, she looks at the clutch and the earrings and the necklace. Morgana would look like that too, she’s judge like that too and Colette, the young actress that has fallen in love with her would always look away.

“You come home to your alcoholic wife, drunk in the den and you care about this stupid dress?” Andrea crafts perhaps her one coherent sentence, with detectable slur and without getting up. Her eyes unfocused on the elegant older lady.

“What do you want me to say?” Miranda says the ice cold calm in her voice irritating the younger woman.

“I don’t know. Mad, be mad?  
Miranda shakes her head, “I am disillusioned …”

The brunettes face drops, she had hit the head on the nail.

“Like I said you would,” Andrea says and pours one more glass, she hands it to Miranda. What a hypocrisy. 

Miranda takes the glass, but doesn’t drink it, “let’s go to bed,” she tells Andrea.

“no,” she feels like she’s rearing her teenage daughters. 

Maybe that was what this was. Maybe Andrea needed a mother.

“Andrea, tomorrow is your tour,” she comments.

“I .. it’s going to fail,” the brunette cries.

“Is that what this is about?” Miranda asks.

Andrea shakes her head, “it’s about you?”

It was always about her, since that day they met. Eveyrthing had been about her, had it not? The job, the wedding, the hair dye, the divorce, the home, everything. She wonders if it was not too much? It was like a novel where love is an obsession and it never lets them be happy. What was the ending for Andrea’s novel? She should have read it.

“No, it isn’t, you know why?” Miranda reasons, she is talking to a child, a child dressed in expensive exclusive Givenchy, dark taffeta fabric and embroidery now has two wine stains. Andrea is now drinking whiskey, Miranda breathes in.

“no,” 

“Because you are going to sleep this off, I will make sure you are all ready for tomorrow and then you will call your sponsor. This is fine, it will pass and your book won’t fail,” she tells the brunette.

“But I did, you’re ….” She stops and breathes, she seems to have to think hard to speak, “you are … disillusioned. In me…” 

Miranda isn’t. She’s worried and tired and annoyed. 

“I’m not, I could never be. I … you are more than enough for me, for anyone. Andrea, you have to understand that,” she speaks softly and gentler now, and she can’t believe she has found that calm at a moment like this. She knows Andrea won’t remember this tomorrow.

Andrea agrees, they climb the stairs and she puts the younger woman to sleep. Miranda pads downstairs and drinks the whiskey that was poured. Blesses irony, life. She puts the cups away, she pours the rest of the alcohol out. She calls Misty, Andrea’s sponsor and tells her what she walked into.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

“It’s normal Miranda, while we work hard for our graduates to not fall back on old habits, it happens people relapse. Now, she’s about to go into a dangerous moment, road trip, after parties, alcohol. Will you be there?”

“I can’t, I have things at Runway,” the editor mouths softly.

“Who’s going with her?”

“Her publisher?”

“mhh’ is all she gets and Miranda doesn’t take it as a good sign. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`  
The first review is a bore, but the New York Times recommends it and the rest label the book as a powerful read.

“The true sentiments of a whole generation” they say.

Miranda buys a copy, she thinks it’s the least she could do.

“To the love of my life,” the dedication reads, “to the moments or years we may spend together.”

She smiles, its vague and broad and yet it is perfectly written. Life was an unpredictable journey, moments and years, they could spend them all or none together, that was what made it grandiose.

It’s been a week, Andrea has been doing good. She calls her that night, from Boston.

“I miss you,” she says. 

To which Miranda nods and worries that Andrea will drink again. Is this how it’s always going to be?”


	24. Chapter 24

Miranda worried. She worried when she woke up, and when she was in the office and when she came home to dinner. There was a thin line between worry and obsession and she was crossing it constantly.  
If Andrea didn’t text her back she’d call her publicist, if there was no call at night she’d blow up her phone. Today as she was with Caroline in the study, eating slices of apple she kept looking at her phone.

“Mom, she’s going to be fine. If she did it once, she can do it now,” the wise young woman said to her mother. Caroline was leaning on the leather love seat, feet up on the armrest, face toward her elegant mother. Sometimes she wondered how she was able to grow up with the shadow of such a woman looming on top of her, she should have been affected. She should have been a drug addict, troubled child like most of the celebrity children. She wasn’t, her mother was always centered, raised them well. 

“Besides, she knows you’re here for her, “ she added to fill the silence her mother was drowning in.

“I don’t Caroline. She’s alone, and there are so many events, opportunities,” she takes a deep breath. 

“And it would be different from the events you’d take her to?” Caroline poses a valid question.

“because I’d be there … with her,” Miranda answers. 

“then go with her,” the red head throws out. She’s eating potato chips out of a wooden bowl.

“I can’t, I can’t leave Runway and ..”

“I’m sure Runway would be fine, if you left … say for a week? Don’t do the whole tour, do one week. It will give her reassurance that you care,” the young law student clarifies again.

“And the press will eat it up,” Miranda shakes her head.

“Screw them,” Caroline shouts mildly and scrunches her eyebrows, ‘they already did with the wedding, why care now? The biggest bombs have dropped? Her mother, Cassidy?”

“have you talked to her?” Miranda asks changing the subject. 

That was the other thing that worried her, “No, I mean a few texts here and there but she doesn’t want to meet with me. And she said she doesn’t want the apartment you got her. She’s moving in with a friend near NYU.”

“Do you think I should call Andrea’s mother?”

The red head shakes her head again, it’s tamed in a high bun, “I think she need time, to come around. Like Cassidy, if she does.”

“You think she won’t?” Miranda says panic in her voice.

“I don’t know, she told me I only support you because Jasmine and I are a thing,” she pauses.

Miranda raises an eyebrow, “are you?”

The young woman shakes her head, “no, I mean we’ve … experimented. I don’t know. But if she doesn’t come around for you, then she won’t come around for me either,” Caroline says a note of sadness in here voice.

“Oh darling,” Miranda coos.

“You won’t judge me would you?” Caroline suddenly worries.

“Of course not,” Miranda clarifies. The light outside the window is dimming. Night is falling, she looks at her phone again.

“Would you have, if you and Andrea weren’t together?” she asks again.

Miranda seems to think, she wants to be as honest as possible with the one daughter she seems to have left. 

“I don’t think so darling, I have loved Andrea for a long time, before our relationship. I knew she was different,” she pauses and walks over absentmindedly to steal some potato chips from her eldest child.

“I know, I know,” Caroline answers and they spend a few moments in compatible silence.

~~~~~ 

Caroline’s words resonate with her for the following few days as she’s clipping belts to dresses and looking at photo proofs with a magnifying glass. She keeps thinking about how she should go to Andrea and then she thinks about Cassidy and more media images. It’s like deciding between keeping your arm or your leg. She never thought it would come to this, she knows it’s worth it, love always is; yet she can’t help feeling like she’s losing something. Her daughter is worth it too, perhaps more than anything in the world. Aren’t parents supposed to sacrifice everything for their children? Wasn’t she supposed to make sure that her children were healthy and happy. How could she be the cause of pain.

“Miranda, are you okay?” Nigel poses softly. 

They are sitting in her office, he’s across her, Melanie is to her right. 

“Yeah, just slightly tired. Why don’t we postpone this for tomorrow?”

Melanie nods, she takes her spreads and whispers, “see you tomorrow at 2 then?”

Miranda nods, “have my assistant arrange it.”

Nigel doesn’t get up, “what are you tired of?”

His words are direct, they surprise her.

“What are we often tired of Nigel?” she asks as is customary for her, with another question.

“Is this because of Cassidy?” he asks.

She shakes her head, and turns her chair to face the window showing the vast clouds in a perfect sky.

“Yes, and no,” she whispers.

“Then?” the man runs his hand over his head.

“I found Andrea drunk at home, the other day. Right before her book tour.”

“Oh,” he murmurs, “is she okay?”

“We called her sponsor, she’s going to local meetings at her tour places. Or she’s supposed to be going, I’m … I can’t stop worrying.”  
“Why?”

“I’m not sure, she said she was a disappointment to me, that her book was going to fail. That I would not love her, she babbled on and on,” Miranda’s voice cracks.

“And ….”

“Caroline suggested I go with her,” she sighs, “but I don’t want more media to reach Cassidy.”

“the prodigious child,” Nigel whispers.

“She has every right to be upset, the person she grew up with is now a different stranger. Something that she took for granted is now what a lie?” Miranda tries to explain what her daughter is feeling.

“I don’t agree, you haven’t changed as a mother, or as an editor. Your ability to hug them, feed them, help them is the same. Your ability to work, dress, plan a successful magazine is the same. I don’t understand why you say you’re not the same. Should she be confused and shocked? Perhaps. But should she disown you as her mother? Fuck no,” she emphasizes.

“Nigel, please,” she scolds.

“I know, I know.” 

 

“The passage that you chose was perfect, “Andrea hears a familiar voice as she’s done signing books.

“Matthew! What are you doing here?” she exclaims and gets up to hug her ex-husband.

“I was in town, family business stuff, heard you were reading,” he explains.

“Wow, that’s a crazy coincidence,” she stops, this is awkward. She doesn’t know what else to say. She’s married now, to the woman she always loved. To the name she spoke when he yelled across the stairs to spit out the name of who had broken up their marriage.

“I’m glad to see you,” he fills the silence, “how have you been?”

“Good, good. This is the second week in the tour, I have one more week then I come home for a week and then we tackle the west coast,” she smiles. The crowds had been loving the book so far.

“That’s amazing, see you’re successful at everything you do,” he smiles.

“How are you?” she asks.

“Same, mother is still giving me a hard time about you. Says I should not have given you the divorce, you know how she is,” he chuckles.

She nods, “Yes.”

“Dad has been good at hushing her,” he laughs again.

“I always did like your father better,” she agrees.

“Andy, we’re done,” her publicist signals. I’m going to take some stuff out to the car, do you need anything else?”  
she shakes her head, “I’ll take a cab to the hotel, thanks.”

“See you tomorrow,” the woman smiles.

“We had that in common, your father was my favorite too,” he smiles walking closer.

“Mom, has actually been surprising, she came to the wedding. Miranda extended the invitation, dad talked to her. She showed up and congratulated us,” she stops there is a certain look of annoyance in his eyes.

“I think there may be hope, she continues, and grabs her purse. 

“That’s good,” he murmurs and reaches out to grab her hand.

She recoils, “Matt it’s been great to see you. I’m glad you’re doing good. I have to go, I have early meetings tomorrow.”

“Still doing the alcohol thing?” he drops slightly sarcastic.

She nods, “Yes, Miranda has been a great help.”

“Miranda, seems to be all you talk about, do you ever talk about me anymore?”

She walks around the table, “Matthew, good night.”

“We were married for 10 years,” he announces.

“I know, and you’ll always mean a lot to me,” she clarifies. “You’re my best,”

“Best friend, I know. I’m just not as special as she is right? Middle aged, fashion editor who didn’t even know you existed?”

Andrea feels agitated, “lower your voice, you don’t know anything about us. You have no idea about our history.”

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for, why don’t I take you to the hotel,” he straightens his hair.

“No, thank you I’ll take a cab.”

“You don’t think I would hurt you? Do you?”

She shakes her head, “No, I think I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

“Come on Andy, let me drive you to the hotel. I could take you to your room, we could have some coffee?””

“No, really,” she insists.

“I bet we can think of some good memories, remember when we got married? That night? I’ll drive you,” he grabs her wrist.

“I believe she said no Matthew, I know you would only offer to drive her for her safety,” Miranda’s voice booms behind them. She’s standing tall in a black Vivian Westwood skirt and a Chanel embroidered top. It’s like a silhouette in the dark bookstore that peaks in silver hair.

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m here now to pick up my wife,” she sounds out the last words and he seems to shake his head.

“Miranda always a pleasure,” he smiles and shakes her hand.

“I could say the same Matthew, now if you’ll excuse us. I have to make sure Andrea sleeps since I’ll be by her side for the remainder of this tour leg,” she grabs Andrea’s hand intertwining their fingers and they exit the doors to the chauffeur awaiting them outside.

“That was like something out of a fuckign movie, how did you know,” Andrea says as soon as they get in the car.

“Hello darling, I missed you too,” the dry sarcasm comes from the editor.

“Oh I was waiting to show you just how much I missed you in the hotel, “Andrea runs a soft finger down the editors palm.

“Mmm, I guess that will do too” she smiles.

“Are you really staying for this week?” the young writer asks.

“Of course, my darling, do I ever say things I don’t mean?”

“I know, I know,” Andrea acquiesces and snuggles up for the short drive to the hotel.


	25. Chapter 25

Miranda was in complete adoration to her youger lover. She’d stand far behind Andrea at the book signings, wearing muted colors that for once in her life did not draw attention. Her clear blue eyes would stare at the brown haired writter with longing and when anyone tried to approach her she’d softly shake her head and defer to her wife.  
Andrea could say that she did not recognize this woman, but she did. She always had, that is why she bad fallen in love with her because deep inside she was kind and caring.   
.  
Miranda in turn always knew Andrea was a special creature with the innate capability to create beautiful works in whatever industry she chose. Yet, through it all the shadows were cast for two things Andrea’s fragile sobriety and her daughter’s deep rooted denial.   
.  
“Are you worried?”Andrea asked on the last day of their self proclaimed vacation. Miranda was laying in bed, sheets slightly covering her breasts as Andrea caressed her collarbone and the edge of the sheet. Miranda gives her a soft smile and shakes her head.  
“No, why?” The editor says softly.  
“You’re brow is furrowed and you’re biting your lip.”  
Miranda realizes it’s true. The thoughts that ran rampant in her head scatter and crash but she doesn’t want to let Andrea know. The younger brunette does not need to worry more. She raises her left hand and unbottoms the blouse that had just been put on. Long pale fingers delicately fidget with the tip of Andrea’s bra. Andrea slightly drops her head back, time which Miranda uses to pull herself up and draw the edge of her teeth over Andrea’s pulse.   
“You’re trying to distract me,” the brunette breathes in but the silver haired editor shakes her head and bites her softly.   
She straddles the brown haired beauty and Andrea takes the pale skin of Miranda’s breast into her lips. Miranda presses furthers, Andrea pads her fingers along Miranda’s spine and a moan escapes somewhere and Miranda’s hand neads the long locks in front of her.  
Miranda ensues to ondulate into Andrea and Andrea momentarily forgets what she was asking, she kisses down from the start of her breasts down to the edge of her hip.  
Miranda has to kiss her, she needs to feel her lips and her tongue and the ardent desire that Andrea provides. This is hard but loving her is easy. The kiss leaves them breathless, Andrea topples over Miranda. She looks up, innocence and desire dripping from oval chocolate eyes. Miranda feels the rush of blood down to her core and she intertwines their legs and limbs. The kisses are sloppy and the moans are louder.   
“I love you,” someone says or they both say. It really isn’t clear because they had become one. Their bodies, their hearts and their lives.


	26. Chapter 26

It takes a long time for her to understand that she may never recover her daughter, and even longer for her to stop questioning what kind of mother she is?  
Should she not have sacrificed herself for her daughter’s happiness? Isn’t that what mothers do? When the twins were babies she would have given up the world for them, she sacrificed nights of sleep, days of work, dresses, even friends. There was nothing more important that those pairs of eyes that looked up at her and called her mother. She often felt guilty for leaving them alone at times as they got older but she knew it was to give them a better life, the life they deserved. There was justification. There was no justification to this, she was letting her own daughter walk away for her own happiness.  
It went against every line in every parenting book. Caroline assured her that it wasn’t true that Cassidy was being unfair and selfish, she told her at every turn that Cassidy did not deserve that sacrifice.  
“In time,” the young red head argued, “she’s going to forge her own life and leave you mom, leave you alone.”  
Miranda knew that Caro was right, but she could not stop feeling guilty. It took a long time of keeping her broken heart quiet until she wrote Cassidy a letter two years later.  
The envelope was hand delivered to an apartment in Queens where the young woman was staying, it was embossed in Miranda’s private stationary and handwritten in her beautiful cursive. It was a memorial of their life together, of the ups, the downs, the first steps and the college essays. In it Miranda wrote every emotion, not something she often did. She told Cassidy how proud she always felt, of her, of both of them. That there was nothing that made her happier than her two daughters, her princesses. She wanted the world for both of them, to save them and protect them from every danger and evil in the world, but she could not, just like she could not let her last and perhaps only chance at true love escape away. The letter ending saying that she would always be welcomed home, if she approved or disapproved, if it was in a few days a lot of years, Miranda would always wait for her, with open arms and no questions asked.  
The letter met with dead silence, the same dead silence she had been getting for the past two years. As soon as the book tour had ended for Andrea, the media had swarmed like it was expected over the editor appearing at every signing and every event.  
Runway’s position was that it had been a private decision and not an endorsement and though Miranda never answered the question directly, the book tour was a success. The book was in the top ten of that year and if Andrea never wanted to go back to work she most likely didn’t have to. The media attention however was not all beneficial, for that was the last time Cassidy had ever answered the phone to her famous mother and it was to tell her to leave her alone.  
Caroline on the other hand was ever constant and ever faithful to her progenitor and to Andrea. She helped Andy plan a surprise anniversary party for the unsuspecting editor who was completely flabbergasted when she walked in to what she thought was a photoshoot and met her closest friends and her wife. It had been something to remember for sure. The day Miranda sent that letter was also the second commemoration of Andrea’s sobriety and another reason to let the past go.  
On that occasion, they were to have dinner at Brasserie, a hidden gem of Italian cuisine. Caroline was coming down along with Nigel and to everyone’s surprise both of Andrea’s parents. It was an occasion to remember and Miranda had thought that if she was going to start a new chapter it would be that day.  
A new chapter was started indeed. Nancy had no reproaches, her opposing comments had lessened with the passing of time. Andrea could not exactly say why, perhaps she realized that Miranda was good for her, perhaps she realized she could not change the event’s, perhaps she simply realized that her daughter’s happiness was in reality the most important thing in the world. Nancy was kind and polite to Miranda ever since that dinner, the pair had even gone shopping together.  
“I’m not sure you can call what Miranda does shopping,” Andrea had warned her mother.  
It was true, Miranda did not shop, as soon as she appeared at a boutique or designer studio she was catered from head to toe and everything was always shipped to the townhouse. Needless to say, Nancy loved it.  
Even after that letter and that dinner Miranda had held on to hope. It took a long time, the blue- eyed editor new it, Andrea knew it, Caroline and Nigel and even the media knew it. Eventually she had to let it go and she did. Not in the exhale and make a big show of it, not in the way you let go of a bad job, or a broken relationship; she let go, in the way you let grief escape, in the way you let beautiful memories fade, in the way you let loved one go to heaven. That was how she let that pain go. Only time would decide if Cassidy wanted to come home someday, meanwhile she had so much to be happy for. She had a gorgeous successful daughter who had just graduated as a lawyer, who was moving to Chicago to work for a world famous human rights firm. She had a beautiful wife one that had overcome so much, a few good friends, the magazine was more successful than ever and then there was Lucy. Lucy the angel faced, green eyed, light brown hair toddler that had recently come to their life unexpectedly and who they had adopted.


End file.
